


To Breathe Less

by lacunalady



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha Natasha Romanov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Bucky Barnes, Beta Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky spies on Steve, Captain America Steve Rogers, Charming Bucky Barnes, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Omega Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Pet Names, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Bucky Barnes, Recovered Memories, Scenting, Texting, Touch-Starved, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, bucky gives steve his sweatshirt, heat - Freeform, mated, pre war flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25897906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacunalady/pseuds/lacunalady
Summary: It's unnatural for Omegas and Alphas to lose each other.Steve's bones ached for his other half.Then he gets a text.*****The Winter Soldier really was going to stay away from the blond. Steve. He had every intention of going off the grid, finishing Hydra off for good, before he turned himself in. But those blue eyes, that heart of Steve's...it belonged to him. The Soldier knew it did.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve/Bucky, bucky/steve
Comments: 348
Kudos: 1228





	1. the longing

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeeyy!! Here is an A/B/O Stucky fic, 'cause why the heck not?!? Self lubricating assholes and angst? Pffsht. Sign me up. 
> 
> I'll be updating weekly :) 
> 
> Enjoy!

_“You’re safe,” Bucky’s voice is in his ear, low and soft, a nice addition to the white noise of the apartment in the moonlight. It shoots through Steve’s bones and makes him instantly more relaxed. It's safe here. “C’mere, sweetheart. Hmm. I’ve got you, honey.”_

_The apartment is cold. It’s--yeah. It’s goddamn_ freezing. 

_Steve’s teeth were chattering, but Bucky tugged his small body into his warm, broad chest, and Steve curled up there, fitting perfectly._

_He pressed his nose right into Bucky’s neck, inhaling the safe scent of his Alpha. A sense of peace washed over him._

_Steve never could sleep when Bucky worked late--not until he got home._

_He didn’t feel safe, at ease--not entirely, anyway--until Bucky was there. He wasn’t used to being alone. He’d met his Alpha so early in life, Steve had always had Bucky around. He was spoiled in that way._

_He’d always hoped that loneliness was a feeling he’d never have to know._

_“S’cold,” Steve said stupidly, as if Bucky couldn’t feel his icy toes pressed against his calves._

_Bucky’s arms squeezed him tighter into his chest, and he pressed his warm cheek over Steve’s cold ear._

_“I know,” Bucky whispered, his voice full of guilt. “I’m so sorry, Stevie. You’ll warm up soon, just stay nice n’close.”_

_It wasn’t his fault--it was never his fault. Steve couldn’t work, not with how sickly he was, and Bucky worked_ hard _at the docks...but there just wasn’t enough work to go around._

_Heating was expensive, and they had food and water and medication for Steve to think about first._

_They couldn’t have it all, though Steve never felt like he was missing out. This life had given him Bucky, and that was more than he could have ever imagined for himself._

_Bucky radiated heat, and it was enough just to have him close. He regretted saying anything at all._

_“You make it better,” Steve reassured him quickly. He felt guilty for even mentioning it, knowing what his misery does to Bucky. Bucky--golden, amazing Bucky, who only ever wanted to give his Omega the world._

_“Sleep, Stevie,” Bucky murmured into his hair. His calloused hands draw lazy shapes along the ridges of Steve’s spine. He smelled like smoke, and ocean water. He smelled like Steve's.“You’re warmer now, ain’t you?”_

_Steve pressed himself into the space of Bucky’s body, not wasting an inch of Bucky’s exposed warm skin. They fit together perfectly, like their bodies were molded for just this purpose._

_“Yeah,” Steve sighed, his goosebumps beginning to fade, as the comfort of sleep began to take him. His eyes closed heavily. “I’m warm now.”_

***

“Steve.”

Steve blinks quickly, his eyes refocusing on the room around him. 

Natasha and Sam are sitting at his dining room table, squinting at him, their posture rigid. 

Sam looks concerned, Natasha looks a mixture of intrigue and annoyance. 

Steve swallows, a chill running over his body. He gets up silently, and shuts the open window, stopping the January breeze from entering the apartment with a robotic movement. 

“It’s freezing in here,” He notes dully, staring out at the city skyline. His voice is flat, and sounds far away, even to his own ears. 

“Did you hear _anything_ I just said?” Sam asks incredulously. “Like, where the hell did you just go, man? ‘Cause you weren’t in the kitchen with us, that’s for sure.”

Steve sits back down again, wrapping his arms around himself. “Sorry,” He says softly, not meeting his friend’s eyes. He doesn’t want to talk about the past. He isn’t strong enough. “You were saying?” 

“We got a hit on Barnes. Security cameras on the subway picked up this,” Sam pushes a blurry picture across the table towards Steve. “There, in the red. That’s him, right?” 

Steve made himself look, but it takes real effort, preparing himself to see a photo of a man who wasn't his Bucky, a mistaken identity, yet another dead end. Hope was such a heartbreaking thing to have.

Steve peels his eyes from his own lap and takes a deep breath.

The picture was blurry, and only the top of the man's head and a bit of his profile was visible, but--yeah. 

Yeah, that was his Alpha. 

Steve would know the silhouette of him anywhere, his bulk, the shape of skull. It was as familiar to him as his own, even after all these years. 

He stares at the picture for a few moments with longing, his heart stuck somewhere in his throat, and then it finally clicks. 

“Wait,” Steve blinks up at Natasha. “He’s _here_? He’s in New York?” 

“He’s in Manhattan,” Natasha corrects, arching a sculpted brow at him. “This image is him on the C.” 

“Manhattan to...B-Brooklyn?” Steve swallows, the faint pang of hope sputtering in his chest. It wasn’t possible. “What would he be doing in Brooklyn?” 

Natasha levels him a knowing look, but speaks reluctantly, like she’s afraid to get his hopes up. Her shoulders lift and fall. “Maybe he’s stirring up old memories.”

“Maybe,” Steve repeats, not wanting to let himself imagine such a thing. He stares out the window. The glass is frosted just a little, the hints of winter clinging to the sleeping city. “That would be something, huh?” 

“It...would be,” Sam agrees carefully, collecting the picture back up into the folder they’d been using to store what little they’d collected on Bucky so far. “If he’s in the area, it’s gotta be a good sign, right?”

“That, or he’s coming to finish what he started when he tried to kill us all.” 

Steve winces at the harshness in Natasha’ voice, trying not to let it get to him. 

He thought about that day often, the helicarrier, the explosion...of Bucky’s fists, the hatred in his eyes as he used every ounce of his strength to end Steve’s life. 

The panic. 

The confusion--the _hope_ Steve had felt when he sensed that maybe, just maybe, his Alpha recognized him. 

Falling. Water. 

Bucky saving him. 

Bucky _leaving_ him. 

Waking up injured and alone. 

“Thanks, guys, for this. It’s. It’s good news,” Steve clears his throat, but he knows he’s already given himself up, his voice too thick to sound normal. “I just wanna be alone for a bit, if that’s okay. I’ve got a bit of a migraine.” 

"Of course," Natasha clips cooly, getting to her feet. She gives Sam a look like _are you coming?_ But he hesitates, regarding Steve with suspicion. 

“Do supersoldiers get migraines?” Sam whispers to Natasha, as he pushes his chair away from the table and stands up. 

"Sam--" She hisses, but Steve interrupts before she can say more. 

“They _do_ have enhanced hearing,” Steve rolls his eyes, trying to be a bit playful to ease the worried look that clouded Sam’s face. He didn't think he was doing a good job of it; it felt forced. Unnatural. 

“Just worried ‘bout you,” Sam mumbles, as Steve uses his bulk to crowd them both towards the door. 

Natasha is silent, watching him with a knowing look. She may as well have given him a twenty-minute long lecture. That look said a lot.

Steve _did_ have a headache, and he felt a bit nauseous. 

“I’m fine,” He mumbles. It feels like a lie. “Just gonna lay down for a bit, take it easy for the day. Thanks for everything.” 

“You want to pick this back up tomorrow?” Natasha waves the file folder at him. Steve doesn’t want to look at it anymore. It _hurts._

“Maybe,” He says, not wanting to commit to anything. “I think I just need...some time. To process. Him being here, being so c-close--it's a lot.” 

It wasn’t natural for Omega’s to lose their Alphas. 

They were mated at 16, during Steve’s first ever heat, and they’d been inseparable both before and after they were mated. 

During the depression, the hungriest, darkest nights, during the war--with the constant gunfire and the smell of stale blood...Steve had never been alone.

Not until the train.

After that, nothing mattered, least of all his life. Why would he want such a long and ugly thing without Bucky around to hold his hand? 

Nothing was funny if Bucky didn’t laugh with him. 

They were supposed to be partners in life, until they died somewhere in Brooklyn, holding each other’s hand and remembering all their years in the sun.

Steve casts a tortured glance at the floor, trying to squash down the broken feeling in his ribs. He had to be strong until his friends left. He couldn’t let them worry. 

Sam’s jaw tightens, watching Steve like a hawk, seeing through Steve’s facade. “Okay. Listen man, if you need me, no matter what time it is, or anything--”

Steve blinks out of it, and claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder, trying to force himself to be convincing. “I know,” He offers a small smile, or at least, he hopes it resembles something of a smile by the time it reaches his lips. “Thank you both, really. It means a lot, what you’ve been doing.”

“Yeah, man. Don’t mention it, okay? Night, Steve,” Sam surrenders, looking over his shoulder as he leads the way out. 

Natasha hesitates a moment. “Steve?” She murmurs, craning her neck to meet his eyes. 

“Yeah?”

“Lock your windows and doors tonight,” She looks towards the window that had been open only moments ago, to let in the cold winter breeze. “If Barnes is in town, I suspect he may want to pay you a visit, and perhaps now isn’t the best time. Not until we know what his mental state is, anyway.” 

The idea runs a thrill through Steve’s body, making him feel more awake, more _alive,_ than he had in weeks.

Bucky--coming _here?_ Bucky, being in his space? His apartment? Close enough to smell, and….and touch? To hear his voice?

“Right,” Steve nods, trying not to look like the idea thrilled him. He didn’t want to lie to her, so he didn’t make any promises. “Thanks, Nat,”

She turns silently on her heel, and leaves, no doubt noticing his lack of agreement to do as she asked. 

Steve shuts the door behind them, waits ten seconds until he hears the elevator _ding_ to signal they had gotten on it, and then he bolts to the sink and throws up twice. 

***

Steve dreams that night. 

It’s more of a nightmare, really. 

It’s 1944 and they’re back on the train, only this time, Bucky’s not _Bucky,_ he’s the Soldier, and he’s angry. 

_“I’m so sorry,” Steve sobs, ducking behind his shield as Bucky fires at him._

_“You left me!” Bucky shouts, poison dripping from his tone, “You didn’t care!”_

_“I cared!” Steve protested desperately. “Buck, god, please, listen to me. I was lost without you!”_

_“You could have saved me,” Bucky growls, approaching with hard, sure steps. It’s not the walk that Steve remembers him having. He is afraid._

_“I know,” Steve cries violently, his shoulders forcefully trembling with his sobs. “I let you down. I failed you, Buck, and I’m so sorry!”_

_“No, you aren’t,” Buck hisses, and steps towards the edge of the train. The snowy alps race past them._

_“Don’t,” Steve pleads, dropping the shield and rushing to his Alpha’s side. “Please, don’t.”_

_“And now you’re going to lose me all over again. And it’s exactly what you deserve.” Bucky drops his gun, and opens his arms, he tips backwards, and just like that, he’s gone, falling from the train._

_“Bucky!” Steve howls, like a wounded dog. His voice echoes off of the mountains around him, as if they're mocking his grief. “Bucky! No!”_

**

[ 2:34 AM ] 

UNKNOWN: WAKE. UP.

[2:35 AM]

UNKNOWN: Wake. Up. NOW.

Steve gasps awake, bolting upright in bed, immediately taking his surroundings in. There were no immediate threats in his bedroom. 

He listens for a few moments longer, then realizes the sound that woke him up was his phone.

He blinks down at it with watery eyes, his nightmare abruptly over, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. He read the message: _wake up._

It wasn’t often he got texts from unknown numbers, let alone in the middle of the night, telling him to wake up after just having a nightmare. 

His phone number wasn’t an easy one to find.

He instantly snaps into alert mode, flicking on the lights and grabbing his shield. He breathes hard, listening for any sounds in the apartment. Was someone after him? 

He checks his security system, but it hasn't been tampered with or disarmed.

A few minutes later, his phone dings again. 

[ 2:41 AM ] 

UNKNOWN: You’re safe. 

[ 2: 43 AM ]

UNKNOWN: Didn’t mean to scare you. 

Steve swallows hard, his hand gripping the phone with white knuckles. Impossible.

He gently puts down the shield, sitting down hard on the edge of his bed. 

His mind is reeling, both from waking up from the nightmare so suddenly and to the mysterious messages coming in through his phone. 

Although he wants to believe he already knows, Steve has to ask.

[ 2: 56 AM ] 

Steve: Who is this?

He waits, chewing at his bottom lip. The hope was already swelling in his chest, despite the logical part of him wanting to squish it down, to stop the hurt that would come from disappointment, if this didn’t turn out to be _him_. 

But--there was no way it could be anyone else--he refused to believe that. If it was _him,_ then he was watching Steve. Perhaps he'd seen Steve thrashing in bed. Calling out his name. 

He turns his ringer on _loud,_ not wanting to miss another text.

He waits for 15 more minutes, but his phone doesn’t go off again. 

Steve scrubs a hand over his eyes and climbs back into bed. He keeps his phone clutched to his chest. He closes his eyes and lets the past wash over him like a wave. It soothes his tired heart.

_“Sorry,” Bucky hummed, pressing a kiss to Steve’s forehead, his lips lingering there as he breathes Steve in. Steve could feel the relief coming off of Bucky just as much as he felt relieved to have him home. He hated their separate schedules, and nighttime was the only part of the day they got to curl up safe together. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”_

_“Well then maybe you should get into bed a little quieter,” Steve yawned, moving over to make room for Bucky. The soothing scent of his Alpha filled the space now that Bucky was home, and Steve felt impossibly sleepier because of it. "Ya big lug."_

_There was a sense of safety that came with Bucky’s presence that made it somehow so easy to fall asleep, even if he’d been wide awake before._

_"Mm. You call me the sweetest things, doll," Bucky chuckles into Steve's hair. "Ought to be careful or you're gonna start givin' me a big head."_

_"Jerk," Steve grumbles, though he's hiding a smile by pressing his face into the pillow. "Go to sleep. You got an early mornin'."  
_

_"You'll dream of me?" Bucky asks around a yawn, settling in behind Steve and_ _wrapping his arms around Steve’s skinny chest, flexing them to tug Steve tightly against him._

_Steve lets his eyes flutter shut. "Of course I will," He breathes, "I always do."_

_“Me, too," Bucky murmurs. "Night, kitten,” He purrs in Steve’s ear, “Sweet dreams.”_

“Goodnight, Buck,” Steve whispers to his empty bedroom, before drifting off. “Miss you.” 

**

Just two miles away, James Buchanan Barnes takes the headset connected to the bugs in Rogers’ apartment out of his ear. He sets it down beside the laptop he’d been using to research his own file and stares at the screen, trying to process the information he found there. 

_Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th._

The man he once was--now a stranger--staring back at him from under the brim of an army-issued hat, with mischievous eyes. The eyes of a man who belonged firstly to himself. 

Barnes wasn’t sure he was still that man. He wasn’t sure he knew _how_ to be.

He puts down his brand new cell phone. 

He presses his face into his hands, his large shoulders hunching over. The body is tired, the mind needs rest. 

The eyes are wet. 

It had been a long time since the Asset had cried.

He didn’t ever want to hear Steve’s nightmares again.


	2. another cold midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky reaches out again.

Steve tries and fails to let sleep take him, drifting for only a few moments before startling away again in the hopes that a new message might light up his screen.

He holds his phone to his chest as if it were the hand of his lost lover and stares up at the ceiling of his room, imagining he were somewhere--anywhere--else. 

Anywhere Bucky was. 

Sometimes that longing brought him to memories of the past, overplayed scenes where he was sure he was getting the details wrong. 

Sometimes it brought him to somewhere imaginary, where he pictured the Winter Soldier holed up and afraid...but whole. 

_It would be easy. Steve would walk in, and their eyes would meet, and Bucky would jump to his feet, recognizing his Omega. He would sigh softly and take a hesitant step towards Steve, and then another, and then Steve would be falling into Bucky’s arms. Bucky’s metal hand would be unfamiliar, but it would feel_ right _as he stroked through Steve’s hair with it. They would be together. They would figure out the rest--_

The knocking on his door and the sun coming through the window of his bedroom alert him that it’s morning, and that Sam--and maybe even Nat--were waiting to be let in. 

Steve blinks out of his day-dream, startled that so much time had passed. 

Steve doesn’t want to get up. He’d much rather lay in bed and not disturb the scene that had caused his mysterious texter to worry about him. To reach out. 

Something foolish told him that if he stayed where he was, the dream might continue. 

He knew in his heart it was Bucky. It was just too much of a coincidence. 

Bucky being in Manhattan, in _Brooklyn?_ Having a nightmare about Bucky, to be woken up by a strange text? A text that just... _felt_ like him? 

He couldn’t explain it. 

Steve gripped his phone in his hand the whole time he got dressed, pulling on jeans and a button down, and sliding on some slippers to shuffle over to his door, where the knocking was getting more insistent.

It’s Sam, holding a tray of coffees. Natasha peeks out from behind his shoulder, holding up a brown bag instead of waving. Bagels.

“Morning, sunshine,” Sam grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “You sleep in or something? You’re usually up by now.”

“Rough night,” Steve admits. His voice sounds horrid. He winces at it and clear his throat, trying again: “Come on in.” It doesn’t sound much better.

They follow him inside and Natasha locks the door behind them and sets the alarm as she always tended to do. 

Although Steve only set it when he was sleeping or away from the place, Natasha didn’t like surprises, and Steve could hardly blame her for that. She often pestered him about keeping it on all the time.

Sam slides a coffee across the table at Steve, as well as two egg and cheese bagels. He tries not to visibly grimace at the thought of eating--he couldn’t muster up any semblance of an appetite.

“Thanks,” He says gratefully anyway, taking a sip of the coffee and trying to blink some life back into his face. “Coffee is good. From Martha’s, ‘round the block?” 

“Yeah,” Sam agrees suspiciously, clearly not falling for Steve’s _everything is fine_ act. “As always.” 

Steve nods. “Right, right. It’s good, thanks.” 

“Steve?” Natasha prompts, tilting her head thoughtfully as she takes in his rumpled appearance. “You didn’t iron your shirt.”

Steve blinks down at himself. “I guess you’re right,” He admits softly, too tired to be embarrassed as he normally would have been. “Must’ve slipped my mind.” 

Sam and Nat share a worried look. “You never forget,” She pushes, crossing her legs over each other; a defensive stance. “You said you had a rough night. What happened?”

Steve took another sip of coffee and thought about stalling his answer by taking a few bites of bagel, but the thought of eating nauseated him. 

“I just…” he sighs, rubbing the skin between his eyebrows to release the tension there. He debated telling them, and knew this was too big of a deal to keep to himself. They were helping him to find Bucky, and his message last night had everything to do with that. “Something kind of crazy happened. Made it hard to sleep.” 

“You got laid?” Sam arched a brow, unable to hide his smile at his own joke. Natasha wacks him upside the head without taking her eyes off of Steve, acting like Sam never spoke. 

“And?” She pushes. There was an edge to her tone, her Alpha-voice coming out more than she usually let on in Steve’s presence. He winced at it. “Sorry,” She corrected immediately, shifting in her seat. “But please, Steve. Tell us.”

“I think I just better show you,” Steve sighs, sliding his phone across the table, already open to his conversation with who he hoped--who he _needed--_ to be Bucky. 

Natasha’s eyes narrow and scan over the conversation quickly, and then slide back up to Steve as she passes the phone to Sam for his inspection. 

Sam lets out a long, soft sigh, and Steve braces himself for what he knows Sam is about to say. “Steve, this was probably some random person who just _happened_ to get your number,” Sam murmurs gently, before Nat can say anything. “You really think Barnes was listening in on you? Or that he would willingly make contact in such an obscure way?” 

“Why now?” Natasha presses on, continuing Sam’s train of thought. “Why that one message, and nothing else?”

“I’m not saying I have all the answers. I just know that this was him,” Steve’s fingers tighten on the coffee cup, and he has to remind himself to be gentle. Sam slides the phone back towards Steve, and Steve pockets it quickly. “Random people don’t just _stumble_ across my cell number. And for _that_ message to come through, exactly at the time I’m having a nightmare…?” Steve shakes his head. “Impossible. It couldn’t have been anyone else. It was--”

He didn’t have to say his name out loud--it hurt to do so, and no one in the room was confused about who Steve meant. “It was him.”

“And that conclusion is based on what?” Natasha prods, leaning back in her chair. Her face is guarded, and hard to read. “Hope? Desperation? What _evidence_ do you have, Steve?” 

He opened his mouth to tell her about the bugs in the apartment, the ones he had noticed but not touched, but shut it quickly. “I just know he’s been watching me. The text came exactly at a time when I was having a nightmare, Nat. I’m pretty sure I was crying--crying out his name.”

Sam swallows, shifting in his seat and looking uncomfortable. He could probably sense the tension--Natasha, pushing for Steve to let go, Steve’s stubbornness, holding on tight.

“Steve,” Natasha begins gently, reaching across the table for Steve’s hand. He shifts it out of her reach. She sighs and curls her fingers into a fist. “I get it, you want--”

He slams a fist down on the table and stands up, his anger finally reaching a peek. “ _No_ , Natasha,” He says irritably. “You _don’t_ get it. You weren’t mated to the love of your life only to have him _die right in front of you,_ because you couldn’t save him!” He shouts. He’s talking too loud for this little space, he’s being unkind. But he can’t stop. “I woke up from the ice and everyone acted like--like he’d been dead for years. And he _had._ I get that. But for me….” Steve swallows down the vomit that wanted to rise, remembering the devastation he’d felt, that he _still_ felt. “For me,” He begins, and then shakes his head, his voice breaking: “I had s-seen him just _last week_.”

The pain was so fresh. It had been three years since Steve had come off the ice and the pain of it, of realizing everyone he knew was dead--including Bucky--had been enough to knock the breath out of him. Even now, his skin crawled as he remembered the darkness of that time, the loneliness. 

Steven Grant Rogers was never meant to be lonely. It was always supposed to be the two of them, together. _Steve and Bucky,_ never one without the other. It was unnatural. Impossible.

Alpha-Omega relationships aren’t as common now as they were back in the 30s and 40s, simply because _Omega’s_ aren’t as common as they were back then. 

Now, most mates were either the same, both Alphas, or Alpha-Beta, like Tony and Pepper. Beta-Beta pairings were also common.

But there was something instinctual about the way Alphas reacted to Omegas, and vice versa, and it just _fit_ so _perfectly_ with him and Bucky. A harmony that resonated deep in Steve’s tissue, so much so that he felt it hard to imagine anyone could understand the level of commitment he felt towards Bucky.

It made him defensive about their relationship. No one _knew_ what he felt. No one had fallen in love or been loved by James Buchanan Barnes the way Steve had.

No one had lost him so completely.

“Steve,” Sam murmurs, his voice much kinder and softer than Steve’s had been. Softer than he deserved. Sam was a Beta, and although his presence wasn’t as comforting as another Omega, his voice had a soothing, non-threatening edge that Natasha often struggled to manage. “You’re right.”

“You are right,” Natasha agrees, backing down a little. “We don’t get it--we haven’t gone through what you’ve gone through, Steve. But I _have_ been through false hope before. I know how devastating it can be. I don’t want that for you.” 

_False hope._ Is that what Steve was feeling right now? This bubbling sense of _something_ in his chest...was it nothing more than false hope? 

Was he deluding himself? Wanting it to be _him_ so badly that he was morphing the reality of the situation to match his fantasy? 

“I don’t know what I think,” He sits down heavily, putting his face in his hands. “I just miss him so goddamn much. Every single minute, I miss him.” He takes in a shaky breath. “I wish I could turn it off.”

He felt guilty for admitting that last part out loud. 

After all, Steve was the reason that Bucky fell in the first place, the reason he was even ever on that goddamn train. Steve was the reason that Hydra got their hands on Bucky. Every scream Bucky ever let out, every second, minute, _hour,_ that Bucky spent in pain because of Hydra….could all be traced back to Steve. 

He deserved to feel the pain of missing Bucky. If nothing else, it was some fraction of the punishment that he deserved for his betrayal. 

Sam claps a hand on his shoulder. “Stop spiraling, man. He’s alive. That’s something.” 

It _was_ something. It was almost everything. Not many couples in the world got a second chance, and here they were, a lifetime later, and they had found each other again. 

Even if the circumstances weren’t ideal, Steve had to be thankful for that at least. 

“He’s alive,” Steve nods, his hands dropping back to the table. “And he’s here, in New York, then I have to believe he’s trying to find a way back to me.”

“Last time we were face to face with him he tried to kill you. Nearly succeeded, too,” Natasha murmurs carefully. “You need to be careful with how much you’re trusting him, Steve. He’s not the same man. He could be here on a mission.”

“He deserves the benefit of the doubt,” Steve tells her firmly. On that, he wouldn’t budge. “Just because he was under Hydra the last time we met, doesn’t mean he still is. Do you think Hydra would give him a phone? Let him text me to wake me up from a nightmare? No. He’d have come in here, when I was vulnerable and finished what he started on the helicarrier.” 

Steve’s words are frank but true. He knew that even if Bucky wasn’t _fully_ out of Hydra’s grasp, he was getting there. The idea made his heart speed up just a little, as the possibility of Bucky coming home seemed to become more and more real.

“You think he’s trying to...get better?” Sam asks, his voice so quiet Steve nearly didn’t hear him. “To come back to you?” 

God. The idea painted such a vivid picture in Steve’s head--a struggling Bucky, with a bit of a beard and unruly hair, trying to watch Steve, measure his patterns, trying to connect anything he was seeing with some distant memory. Succeeding. Coming home. Holding him again.

“I’d like to think that, yeah,” Steve admits, taking another sip of coffee. He hardly tastes the hot liquid. “But I’m compromised to hell when it comes to him. So who knows? Maybe it is just false hope.”

Natasha produces a laptop out of the backpack she’d sported upon coming into the apartment, and opens it up, pressing her fingerprint to the keypad to unlock it. 

“We didn’t get any hits on facial recognition between yesterday and today,” she admits, as she clicks through a few screens. “So he must be laying low. But, I _did_ come across this,” She spins the screen around. 

It’s a Hydra file--no, it’s _Bucky’s_ Hydra file. 

“I’ve already seen this,” Steve admits, turning away sharply. The contents of that file have haunted many of his nightmares, reading about all the ways that Hydra tortured his Alpha. His stomach rolled again. “I don’t want to look again.” 

“I know that,” Natasha said impatiently. “That’s not what I’m showing you. _Look.”_ She pointed to the top of the screen.

_FILE STATUS: COMPROMISED._

“Compromised?” Steve reads out loud, looking to Sam and Nat for help to unpack what this meant.

“We think Barnes is the one who accessed Hydra’s drive and retrieved his file,” Sam explains. “The IP address was based somewhere in Hawaii, but he could easily be using a VPN to hide his location from Hydra agents who would see this and try to track him down.” 

“Hawaii,” Steve echoes, being tugged away into a memory, Bucky's honey-sweet voice laughing around a glass of whiskey, musing about a future they never got to enjoy. “Bucky always talked about us going there. It was a dream of his.”

“So it could certainly be him,” Natasha murmurs to herself, nodding. “Maybe the Hawaii IP is his way of trying to tell us that he’s gone rogue against Hydra?” 

“That would be banking on the fact that he remembers those conversations and dreams from before the war,” Sam noted, his tone impressed. “That would be major progress.” 

Steve tried not to let himself hope too hard. “So he’s accessing his file,” Steve summarizes. _Stick to the facts. Don't let yourself get hurt._

Sam nods. “Going on the assumption that this breach was caused by Barnes, then, yes. And recently, too. Within the last 48 hours.”

“This file, as well as the files on the Winter Soldier Project were all labelled as _compromised,_ meaning someone hacked into the system for _those_ specific files, and it wasn’t us. We’re still working under our undetected server,” Natasha explained. “It’s highly likely this was Barnes.”

“Putting the pieces together, maybe? Trying to jog his memory?” Steve theorizes, his mind racing.

“We’re not sure,” Sam shrugs. “My guess would be that it has something to do with his information. It has his birthdate, family names and dates, the date he fell off the train and was discovered by Hydra….the methods they used to….uh, condition him.” Sam looked uncomfortable. Steve felt sick just thinking about those _methods._

“That’s one theory,” Natasha nods, her face unreadable. “The one we _hope_ is correct. But,” 

“But?” Steve prompts when she hesitates. “What is it?” 

“It’s possible that Barnes is looking at the file because it has the names of all the Hydra operatives that had a part in his torture and reprogramming,” Natasha explains, not wincing as she speaks. “He may be compiling a revenge list.”

Dread washes over Steve. How hadn’t he thought of that? After everything Hydra had done to Bucky, would he really be able to just walk away and not look back? If Bucky was anything like the man Steve knew 80 years ago, he’d want _justice._

He’d want to make sure that the people who hurt him would never get the chance to hurt anyone ever again. 

“That would be…” Steve swallows. “Dangerous.” 

“Yes. If he goes into Hydra facilities without backup,” Natasha shakes her head. “They could regain control over him like _this,”_ she snaps her fingers. “They know all his codes. They’ve put a lot of money and resources into him, Steve. They won’t let him walk away easily.” 

“If they aren’t already tracking him,” Sam sighs. “Then after this, they will be. Or at least, trying their hardest.” 

“Shit,” Steve curses, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He stares at Natasha’s laptop and then back at his coffee, the liquid trembling in tiny waves with the shaking motion of his hand. “Shit, Buck.”

***

That afternoon, once Sam and Natasha left, Steve goes for a walk. He brings a tea with him in a travel mug, and sips it thoughtfully as he strolls, keeping his sunglasses and hat on, not wanting to be spotted by anyone. 

The fresh air, cool with the kiss of winter, felt refreshing on his skin, biting at the tip of his nose. 

_“You’re gonna freeze,” Bucky’s voice cajoles, sounding impossibly softer because of the way the snow swallowed up the echoes of it bouncing off the buildings on the empty Brooklyn street. “Put your hat back on, punk.” Bucky pulls Steve’s hat down over his eyes, and then snickers._

_“C’mon, Buck, stop!” Steve laughs, bumping his shoulder into his Alpha, as he adjusts his hat so he can see again. “I’m toasty warm, promise.”_

_Their footsteps crunch softly in the snow. Bucky’s breath smells like alcohol, but not in a bad way. They had fun tonight--Steve even danced, just a little. Now the moon was high and the streets were empty._

_“Your nose looks like a goddamn tomato,” Bucky snorts, flicking the tip of Steve’s nose lightly. “You sure you’re warm enough? If you get sick again--”_

_“You made put on half my weight in warm clothing,” Steve grumbles half-heartedly, adjusting his scarf around his neck. “I’m nearly sweating!”_

_“Hmmm...well. I wonder what we can do about that...” Bucky hums, bending down for a moment. Steve assumes he's just doing up his shoelaces, but when he straightened up again, Steve saw a round ball of snow in Bucky’s hand. His jaw dropped open._

_“Oh, you_ better _not, Barnes, you jerk!” Steve squeals in delight, bending to pick up his own ammunition. He couldn’t help the smile on his face, so wide it hurt his cold cheeks._

_“You said you were warm enough!” Bucky cackles, running back to try to get out of Steve’s range. The street was silent, the snow glittering down around them._

_Bucky looked ethereal, his brown hair flopping about his face, his eyes alight with joy. “So I figured I’ll help you cool down!” He launched the snowball at Steve, hitting his mate right in the forehead._

_The snow was soft and powdery, and it didn’t hurt a bit as it exploded all over Steve’s face, save for a bit of brain freeze._

_“Oh, you little--!” Steve launches his own snowball at Bucky’s back, and hits him on the ass, causing Bucky to nearly fall over in a fit of laughter. Steve giggles at the booming sound of Bucky’s laugh, always so contagious. Bucky laughed with his whole body, his shoulders shaking, his head thrown back in pure joy._

_“Hey!” Mrs. Greenglow sticks her head out of her apartment window, her hair tied up in curlers, her robe wrapped tightly around her. “Would you two mind keeping it down? Some people are trying to sleep!”_

_“Sorry, Mrs. Greenglow!” Bucky calls up in his sweetest voice. “We’re just goofin’ off! We’ll be quieter, promise!”_

_No one could ever stay mad at Bucky when he did_ that _face, with_ that _voice. Mrs. Greenglow gave them a fond smile. “See to it that you do. Goodnight, boys,” She called softly, shutting her window._

_Bucky winks at him, and then grabs his cold hands, tugging him to the snow-covered ground._

_"Buck, what--"_

_"Shh," Bucky urges, pressing a finger to Steve's lips. The snow was soaking his clothing, but he grinned. "Listen."_

_Steve strains--Bucky knew he had poor hearing, what was he listening for? He frowns deeply._

_"I don't hear anything," he complains._

_Bucky turns his head, snow in his hair, to look at his Omega. "Nothing?" Bucky pushes, raising Steve's hand to rest over his heart. "Listen," he repeats._

_Steve closes his eyes, and listens to the hum of silence. The city was so rarely this quiet. It felt like they were the only two souls in the whole world, like the snow fell just for them, like the moon shone just bright enough to let them see each other's faces in this darkness._

_Then, Steve notices a sound._

_"Your heart," Steve smiles softly. He can feel Bucky's strong heart under his hand more than he can hear it, really, but it's still there._

_"Your heart," Bucky corrects, propping himself up on his elbow to stare down at Steve. "You own it, anyway. M'just keeping it here," Bucky taps his own chest, "'cause you don't got anymore room in that little body. Otherwise I'd hand it over, no problem."_

_Steve rolled his eyes because he could feel tears welling up at Bucky's tender words, and he didn't want to cry. He gets to his feet and brushes the snow off of himself. "C'mon, Romeo," He holds a hand out to Bucky. "'Fore you do somethin' stupid like tell me my eyes are stars or somethin'."_

_"They're even prettier than the stars, honey," Bucky takes his hand and stands, kissing Steve's cold forehead. "and I'd stare at 'em for twice as long."_

The memory ends. 

Steve’s heart gives a lonely squeeze. The cold air whipped his skin, feeling everything and nothing the way it did that night. What he wouldn't give to go back to those empty New York streets, to feel the cold press of the snow against the warm heat of Bucky's breath. 

Bucky going on a revenge streak made Steve’s chest sink, his hand tightening reflexively on his travel mug. 

The thought of him rushing into danger like that, all alone? 

If Hydra got Bucky back into its clutches, they would be back at square one, trying to break through the programming all over again. 

And Hydra would be more careful this time. They likely wouldn’t send Bucky after Steve again. They weren’t stupid.

He kept his cell phone on loud, in his clutch, just in case. _Just in case._

He pops into the little art store on the corner and gets some new sketch paper and charcoals, thanking the elderly lady at the counter and giving her a flash of a smile before he turned to go, the plastic bag tucked under his arm. 

The little purchase made him feel just a bit more normal, though he knew getting in the headspace to draw would be difficult with his mind so preoccupied with Bucky.

As he turns the corner to head back towards his apartment, Steve scans the area in front of him out of habit, and stops dead in his tracks. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of brown hair under a navy baseball cap, and broad shoulders under a cargo sweater.

It wasn’t much, but Steve _knew._

It was him. 

_Bucky._

Steve turns on his heel in that direction, and Bucky takes off running at full speed before their eyes can even lock.

“No!” Steve shouts, taking off after him, letting his legs carry him forward at their full speed. “Wait!” 

But it’s too late. There are too many pedestrians in Steve’s path and Bucky is quick, darting in and out of the crowds and cars, clearly not a stranger to being on the run. 

It’s not long before Steve loses sight of him completely. 

When Steve scans the crowd and can no longer find that familiar silhouette, he sags against a building and breathes hard, more for the frustration of what had just happened than the exertion of it. 

“Dammit, Buck,” He curses, his jaw tight. He crashes his head back against the brick, and wishes vaguely it would hurt more. “How long d’you plan on running?”

Twenty minutes later, when Steve is just walking up the stairs to his apartment, he gets a text.

[1:23PM ] 

UNKNOWN: You don’t have any self-preservation instincts, do you?

UNKNOWN: You were being followed on your way home. You didn’t even notice.

Steve blinks down at the phone dumbly. Followed? He had been so caught up in his _almost_ getting to Bucky that he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings at all. But could he really have been _that_ unobservant? 

[1:27PM ] 

Steve: Let me guess. You were the one following me? 

[1:29PM ] 

UNKNOWN: Not just me, no. But I took care of them. 

Steve frowns. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. 

He figured Bucky had been keeping close, sticking around, maybe even following him as he was out and about. But...if he’d been followed by someone other than Bucky, what did that mean? 

What did it mean that Bucky had _taken care of it?_

Steve’s mouth went a bit dry. 

[1:32PM ] 

Steve: Did you hurt someone?

[1:35PM ] 

UNKNOWN: Yes. 

Steve swallows. 

[1:37PM ]

Steve: Who? 

No answer. 

[1:43PM ] 

Steve: Who did you hurt, Buck? 

Steve: Who was following me? 

[2:03PM ]

UNKNOWN: No one that would be missed. 

UNKNOWN: Hydra. Not men I recognized. Grunts.

Steve lets out a sharp breath. Bucky had stopped Hydra grunts from getting too close to Steve. Bucky had _faced_ Hydra operatives and put a stop to them. 

He was _helping_ Steve. 

[2:07PM]

Steve: You protected me.

The reply comes a few minutes later.

[2:10PM ]  
UNKNOWN: Yeah.

UNKNOWN: Got your 6. 

Steve lets out an involuntary little gasp. 

There was a rising feeling of hope in his chest that he was _terrified_ of. Hope meant being let down. 

Bucky was _remembering._

That was the only explanation Steve could think of for him staying so close to him, watching him, bugging his apartment. Trying to wake him up from a nightmare. Stopping Hydra operatives from cornering Steve. 

[2:13PM ]  
Steve: And who’s got yours?

There is no reply. 

For the rest of the day, Steve’s phone is silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is definitely going to be more of this fic!!! I'm thinking it will end up around 30k!!  
> how exciting!  
> is there anything you'd like to see for these two? Please let me know and I can certainly make it happen!


	3. someone to watch over me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Images of Bucky danced behind his eyelids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chappie to fill the gap!! Another chapter will be coming later in the week!! :)  
> Thank you for your comments & support! They mean the world to me!!

That evening, before bed, Steve doesn’t set his alarm system. 

He opens every window in his apartment and leaves the door unlocked, stomping around in frustration as he does so, letting the air in. The air had grown milder, and the sky was overcast and dark. 

He didn’t care how childish or silly he was being. 

He was angry--he was _pissed._

He didn’t want to play this game with Bucky. He didn’t want to jump every time is phone pinged, or deal with that sinking feeling when he saw a message that wasn’t from Bucky. He didn’t want to be looking over his shoulder for signs of his Alpha. 

He wanted Bucky to come _home._

Every time Steve let his hopes rise, they crashed back down around him. He wasn’t strong enough to deal with that anymore.

Bitterly, he grabs his phone and types out a quick message.

[11:52 PM]   
Steve: Apartment is open if you want to come inside. I hear it’s going to be a rainy night. 

Steve: Might be nice to have some company.

Steve doesn’t get a reply. He wasn't really expecting one.

He falls into bed and closes his eyes, forcing himself to relax into sleep the way they taught him in his army training, the way that let him get a few hours of shut-eye even with the bombs going off constantly. 

It was not a restful sleep. Images of Bucky danced behind his eyelids.

***

_“Buck!” Steve screams. His throat feels raw. “Bucky, no!”_

_Bucky is strapped down in a chair, shirtless, his metal arm glittering in the fluorescent light. Bucky screams around a rubber mouth guard as they program him to_ forget. _Faceless men in white lab coats surround Bucky, but not enough to block Steve’s view. He sees the muscles in Bucky’s chest ripple and shudder with every movement, covered in sweat._

_He was clearly in agony._

_“Bucky!” Steve tries again, trying to pull away from whatever is holding him back, but he’s stuck. He can’t move, he can’t help. He just has to watch as his Alpha is tortured, as Bucky’s eyes grow more and more blank. Forgetting Steve. Forgetting himself._

_“I’m so sorry,” Steve sobs, collapsing to his knees. His heart is broken. “God, Buck, I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”_

_“Hey,” Bucky’s voice says, calmly. It’s coming from behind him. “Steve.”_

_Steve opens his eyes, but the Bucky strapped to the chair is still screaming. This voice belongs to a different Bucky, a Bucky that’s coming from his left side._

_He looks up, and standing there is the Winter Soldier, in a soft looking pull over, jeans, and combat boots. He looks...good, if a little stricken at the sight before him. His hair is longish, but shorter than it had been on the helicarrier, pulled into a messy knot at the nape of his neck._

_“Bucky?” Steve sniffles, reaching towards him on instinct. His mind felt blank, having only enough room to think about the terrible things he’d just seen, and not the reality of what was happening right before him. “God, Buck, is it you?”_

_“It’s me,” Bucky’s voice promises, over the screams of the other Bucky. He opens his arms slowly, and Steve collapses into them, as natural as breathing. The Bucky in the chair keeps screaming.“You’re safe, honey. You’re alright.”_

_Steve casts a stricken glance behind him. Bucky’s screams turn into a terrible gurgling sound, like he was choking on something--_

_“Stevie,” the other Bucky calls. Steve turns back towards him. “I know. It’s tough not to listen, but. You’re alright, sugar. Can you take a deep breath?”_

_Steve shakes his head, about to turn around again, but Bucky grabs his face in both hands and forces Steve to keep his eyes on him. “Steve,” Bucky says patiently. “I’m right here. I’m alright.”_

_“Buck, I let you down, they hurt you and I--”_

_“You--no, Steve. It’s not your fault--” Bucky looks hurt, like Steve just slapped him right across the face. His features wrinkle up for a moment before he smooths them out again. “S’not your fault. Just--that doesn’t matter now, Steve,” Bucky tells him. His hand holds Steve’s tightly. “None of that matters. I need you to_ wake up _.”_

_Steve doesn’t want to wake up._

_Waking up means Bucky wouldn’t be holding him anymore._

_He didn’t have a Bucky to hold when he woke up._

_The Bucky in the chair stops screaming. He breathes hard, through his nose._

_“Keep looking at me,” Bucky warns. “Don’t turn around.” The urgency in his voice made Steve want to turn around even more--what were they doing to him?--but he didn’t. He was afraid that if he disobeyed that he’d lose this Bucky, this calm, warm, Bucky, who was just like he remembered and different, at the same time._

_The Bucky who was strapped down makes a wet, gurgling noise. It's terrible. It claws through Steve._

_"Breathe," Bucky reminds him sharply, "We're okay, Steve. S'time to wake up."_

_“No,” Steve holds him tighter, his fingers turning into claws, grabbing fistfuls of Bucky’s sweatshirt. “Don’t leave me. I don’t want to wake up.”_

_“You’re having a nightmare,” Bucky murmurs, his brow furrowed. “You need to wake up,” but even as he says it, his arms tug Steve tighter against him. It feels nice._

_“Then you disappear,” Steve shakes his head. “I don’t want that.”_

_“I won’t,” Bucky promises. Steve doesn’t want to trust that promise, he wants some kind of proof, but his mind is foggy and he can’t analyze anything too much. “I just need you to wake up.”_

_The voice is easy, and soothing. The voice of his Alpha, asking him to do something...Steve couldn’t refuse._

_Bucky made it sound easy._

Steve opens his eyes and blinks around the room, half expecting Bucky from the dream to be sitting by his bedside, smoothing his sweaty hair from his face. 

But he was right--there was no Bucky to hold him in this world.

“You said you weren’t going to leave me,” Steve sighs, falling back against his pillows and letting out a quiet sigh. His eyes were damp. It’s easy to go back to sleep, with the hope that he might see Bucky there pulling him under. 

[3:37 AM ] 

UNKNOWN: I’m not going to leave you. 

UNKNOWN: I’m here.

Steve doesn’t hear his phone go off. He sees the text in the morning, when the harsh sunlight makes the reality of their situation all the more devastating. 

He doesn’t reply to the message.

He has nothing to say.

**

The next morning, Steve wakes up to find that the door to his apartment was locked, as were all the windows, even though he’d purposefully left them open. 

Even the french doors that opened to the huge wrap-around balcony were locked. 

Steve undid the latch and lock and stepped outside to breathe in the cool morning air, and found himself scanning the rooftops of nearby buildings. 

He hadn’t been the one to lock the apartment up. Sam and Nat hadn’t been by yet--their scents were old, from yesterday’s visit. There was no other smell in the apartment but Steve’s...and he knew what that meant.

His bones ached in an unfamiliar way. He knew Bucky had been here, just inches away from him, but his scent was nowhere to be found. Like Steve, he must be using blockers. 

It hurt, to know that there was no physical trace of him. No proof that would back up his theory.

There was no doubt in his mind that Bucky had been in his apartment last night, but to be able to smell him, to breathe him in again.... 

It dawned on him. 

More than Bucky just being _there_ last night, in the apartment, he’d been in Steve’s dreams. Dream sharing was a rare occurrence even between mates, but it was something that had come pretty naturally to Steve and Bucky. 

It happened often, when they fell asleep at the same time thinking of each other. But...if Bucky had been in Steve’s apartment, there was no way he’d have been relaxed enough to let himself sleep. 

The other way it was possible was through a physical connection. Bucky could have pressed his palm to Steve’s forehead and, if he concentrated enough, entered Steve’s dreams that way. 

Steve closed his eyes and imagined himself, tossing and turning, going utterly still under Bucky’s hand as Bucky entered his head for a few brief moments, then disappeared right as Steve woke up.

It hadn’t happened in so long. To Steve’s knowledge, this was the first time they shared a dream since the war. 

Steve thought for sure that it was impossible for them after Hydra removed Bucky’s mate-mark from his neck, severing their physical connection. 

His heart throbs painfully in his throat, the blood rushing loudly in his ears. What did this mean? 

Could he reach Bucky in his sleep? Could he find him through his dreams and convince him to stay?

Bucky had held him, cooed to him, had stroked his face like he was something precious. Steve sits down hard. 

That _wasn’t_ him just imagining Bucky the way he’d want him to be. That _was_ Bucky, deciding to hold Steve, deciding to use all those nicknames that had once been second nature between them. 

It had to mean he was remembering. 

Steve’s phone _dings,_ interrupting his panic.

[6:29 AM ] 

UNKNOWN: Last night was stupid. To leave every entrance open for intruders? Reckless. 

UNKNOWN: You could have been hurt. You have enemies.

Steve scoffs at the message. It was so inherently _Bucky._

He decides to push. He was hurt that Bucky had left, and confused about last night in general. He was tired of waiting around. He wanted action. Confrontation. 

He wanted last night to be _real._

[6:34 AM ]   
Steve: You would have protected me.

There is no reply after that--Steve knows he was right. But he isn’t done. He doesn’t want to dance around each other anymore. 

He wants answers. He wants his alpha.

[6:48 AM ]   
Steve: Do you remember me?

Steve: Do you know who I am?

His heart races as he waits for the next message. It takes Bucky a while to format a response--or maybe he isn’t sure if he should say anything. 

Steve tries to picture the Winter Soldier, bent over a tiny smartphone, using only his right hand to type, his brow furrowed as he thought of what to say. 

[7:23 AM ]   
UNKNOWN: Sometimes. 

Steve lets out an audible breath, his knees nearly giving way under him. Bucky’s response had done the worst possible thing: Given him _hope._

If, even in seldom found moments, Bucky _remembered_ who Steve was, then there was hope for them yet. 

They could find each other again. Steve wouldn’t live with any other alternative. 

[7:32 AM ]   
Steve: Why come so close but not wake me up yourself? 

Steve: Why do it through a dream?

[7:40 AM ]  
UNKNOWN: If you had seen me there, I wouldn’t have been able to leave again.

UNKNOWN: And it seemed like you needed a few moments of comfort. Even it was only in a dream. 

It was a long message, as far as their correspondence had been, and he felt relieved that he was getting to talk to Bucky again, even if it wasn’t face to face. 

But he didn’t understand Bucky’s message. Did he think that Steve wanted to lock him up?

[ 7:43 AM ]

Steve: I wouldn’t have held you against your will. No matter how badly I’d want you to stay.

[7:45 AM ] 

UNKNOWN: I know. That isn’t what I meant.

Steve frowns. What could Bucky have meant? That he wouldn’t have been able to leave because….he was being watched? 

Or was it because he wouldn’t have been strong enough to _make_ himself leave? 

Because maybe...he wanted to stay?

[7:51 AM] 

Steve: You can’t miss someone you don’t remember.

[ 7:55 AM ]   
UNKNOWN: Don’t know if that’s necessarily true. 

Steve’s heart seems to shudder with those words. It seemed to be a confirmation that Bucky _did_ indeed miss Steve, even if he didn’t fully remember their past.

[7:58 AM] 

Steve: Why keep your distance? Why not just come home? 

Steve: I could help you. 

[8:01 AM]

UNKNOWN: No. I need you to stop looking for me.

UNKNOWN: You’re burning out.

[7:51] 

Steve: Then stop hiding. Stop running.

Steve: I’m not the enemy, Buck. I’m your side. Let me help you.

There was no reply after that. 

Steve stops waiting after thirty-three minutes and tucks his phone back in his pocket, keeping the ringer on _loud._

If Bucky decided to reach out again, Steve was _going_ to make sure he heard it.


	4. six feet over ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was giving up, or starting to, at least. And Steve wasn’t someone who gave up, not ever.

_But I'm okay, and I'm still breathing  
I'm still six feet over ground  
But you don't need to know now  
You don't need to know how I'm doing _

\- "Six Feet Over Ground", Aquilo 

* * *

The next time Natasha comes to visit Steve, he seems visibly shaken, so much so that it unsettles her and makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, instantly aware of the unease radiating from him. 

It’s a Wednesday, and she arrived only one minute earlier than their agreed upon time (which in Steve’s eyes, she knew, meant she was tardy). _If you’re not ten minutes early, you’re late, Nat!_ So it should be no surprise to him that she was there. 

Sam had picked up an extra shift at the VA, so she was alone, holding their two coffees and a bag of bagels--four for Steve, one for her, as always--and knocked on the door with her foot. 

It takes Steve seven minutes and twenty-three seconds to get to the door, which was an incredibly long time for anyone to take answering the door, let alone a super-soldier who hated tardiness. 

Instantly, she’s on high alert. 

She would have kicked the door in for fear that something was wrong if she hadn’t heard Steve shuffling around inside. 

When he swings the door open, Steve looks rumpled. 

His blond hair stuck up in messy tufts all over his head, his eyes had deep purple bags under them, and….it even looked like he’d lost weight. _Weight._

Steve _never_ lost weight. 

But now, his cheekbones seemed more pronounced. His wrists seemed just a hair more fragile. There was no denying it.

Steve looked like he was doing terribly. His lips were cracked and dry. His scent was tinged with sadness and loneliness, giving it a bitterness that made her wrinkle her nose. 

“Steve?” Natasha arched a brow quizzically, not beating around the bush. “My god. What the hell happened to you?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Steve brushed her off, stepping aside to let her enter. 

Natasha slid past him suspiciously, not convinced. It was more than that, she knew. 

“You got more messages from our mystery man, I suppose?” She ventures, peering around the apartment. The place was a mess. “He’s been keeping in touch?”

Steve was a very particular man. She’d never seen his bed unmade, nor a speck of dust in the apartment. He kept a very tidy house, probably due to his military training or influence from his mother. From what little Steve talked about his past, Sarah Rogers seemed to have had a huge influence on him, and Natasha recalled Steve sheepishly explaining that he hated messes because his Ma wouldn’t let him get away with having anything out of place. 

Well now, looking at the apartment...Sarah Rogers would be rolling in her grave to see the state of it. 

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, sitting down heavily at the breakfast bar. He takes a coffee from Nat’s hand with a tired but grateful smile. “You could say that.”

Natasha was intrigued. Something in Steve’s words made her think he was hiding something, which he didn’t often do, especially not from her, in the comfort and privacy of his own apartment. 

“Anything new and exciting I should know about?” she prompts carefully. 

Steve looks away, a sure tell, and shifted in his seat. Another sign of nervousness. Her hands flexed, aching for action. She hates seeing him like this, and would have loved to punch the Soldier for making him suffer like this, even if she could, on some level, understand why.

“Steve,” Natasha quips, her patience running thin. “I can’t help you if I don’t know the full story. You wanted me to help you find Barnes, I’m helping. We’re a team.”

Steve opens his mouth to speak, and his large shoulders suddenly hunch in. “The thing is,” he explains, his voice starting to break. Natasha is shocked to see that his eyes are suddenly glistening with the beginnings of tears. “I don’t think he _wants_ to be found.”

Natasha is a spy, a weapon, a trained and perfected combative. But firstly, she is _human,_ and the part of her recognized the pain she heard in Steve’s voice. The Alpha in her twitched at the sign of an Omega in distress. 

“Oh, Steve,” She sighs sadly. She wraps her arms around his large chest. “What happened?”

Steve sniffles into her shoulder, hunching himself over so that he would fit in the crook of her neck. He seemed suddenly young, then, and her Alpha instinct took over, tugging the Omega closer to her. She felt fiercely protective of him. “You’re alright, Steve. Take your time. Tell me what happened.”

“He--” Steve cuts off, sniffling. “Oh, Christ...” 

“Breathe,” She reminds him again, rubbing his back. She chews at her bottom lip. “You’re worrying me. Are you hurt?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve takes a deep breath, but it doesn’t sound sturdy. She feels like he could fall apart right in her arms. For such a large man, he felt oddly fragile in her grasp. “It’s just. He was _here,_ Nat. In my apartment--”

Natasha goes cold all over, growing still. “ _What?”_

“But--but he didn’t stay. I mean, I didn’t even get to s- _see_ him,” Steve chokes out. “I was sleeping.” 

That doesn’t soothe her. 

The Asset was in Steve’s apartment while Steve was asleep--and hadn’t woken him up by the sounds of things. He could have done any number of things to the apartment or to Steve. 

This place was no longer safe.

“How did he get in?” Natasha demanded to know, still holding Steve, though her arms were tighter now, as if she could compress his bulk into her and protect him from whatever unknown things threatened him. 

For a soldier who had seen so much, Steve trusted so easily--he couldn’t help it, really. It was perhaps his fatal flaw.

He saw the best in everyone, even those who didn’t deserve it. Especially them. 

Natasha would know. He had befriended her without a second thought, after all. 

“The doors were unlocked…” Steve said sheepishly, mumbling into her shoulder like he hopes she won’t be able to understand. 

“Steven,” Natasha groans, shaking him a little. What the hell was she going to do with him? The man was like a golden retriever in human form. “Tell me you’re joking!”

“A-And the windows,” He finishes quietly, his eyes downcast. “I wanted to let him know that he’s _welcome_ here, Nat. That he has a place.”

“You don’t know if he’s worthy of that kind of trust yet, Steve,” She chastises quietly, pulling away when she feels that his shoulders have stopped trembling. “He could have hurt you. Or worse.” 

“I would have let him,” Steve agrees miserably, his eyes wet. Drops of tears cling to his full lashes. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damn sad. 

“I’m so _tired,_ Nat. I’m just…” He rubs his giant fists furiously against his eyes. It’s a very childlike move for someone so large, and it’s incredibly endearing. “I’m just fucking tired. I want him back. It’s like a piece of me is missing.” 

Natasha feels another pang of sympathy. She’d never been mated, so she couldn't’ understand on a personal level the commitment and desperation Steve felt towards Barnes, but she was trained in studying people, and it was written clearly all over Steve’s face. 

He was giving up, or starting to, at least. And Steve wasn’t someone who gave up, not ever.

“Steve,” She whispered fiercely, her small hands balling into fists. “Look at me.” 

His pale eyes slide over to meet hers reluctantly. 

Natasha didn’t like to make promises, but what else could she do? What else could she offer him, if not her word?

“We’re going to get him back,” She tells him, desperate for that dark, lost look to be wiped off his face, “I _promise._ ” 

Steve must have recognized the weight in her words, because he lets out a small breath, and nods slowly. 

“Yeah,” he agrees softly. His features seem to shift, to have more resolve. He rolls his shoulders back and stands up just a bit taller. “Yeah. You’re right. We are.” 

Whether it was true or not, only time would tell. 

***

Steve makes a mistake later that day. 

He texts Bucky a small _I just miss you so much._

It felt right, at the time. Harmless, even. 

Steve just felt like Bucky should know that he still cared, that Steve still longed for him to come home. 

If Bucky _was_ going to do something dangerous, he should at least know that he had a reason to stay alive, he had somewhere to come back to. 

But an hour after sending the message, Steve has a feeling deep in his chest that what he had done was wrong, that it was the final straw in a very delicate situation.

Maybe he’d pushed too hard, asked for too much. 

Maybe Bucky got scared, and decided to break off all contact. 

It had been four hours since sending that last message, and Steve still hadn’t heard from Bucky.

He stares down at his phone screen, like if he concentrated enough he could get a reply from Bucky by sheer will power alone, but of course, nothing happens. 

[7:12 PM ]   
Steve: Sorry. 

Steve’s heart jumps as Bucky’s message comes through just moments after his apology. 

[7:15 PM ] 

UNKNOWN: Me too. 

*******

That night, like every other, Steve dreams of Bucky… but it’s different. 

_He’s standing in an empty concrete room, it’s industrial looking, with a single black chair at the centre of it. This dream was familiar, but it was missing a key player. The screaming Bucky was nowhere to be found._

_Steve took a few steps into the room. “Bucky?” He called out hesitantly. “You here?”_

_“Steve?” Bucky sounded shocked, his voice coming from far away. He rounded the corner, wearing dark wash jeans and a grey sweatshirt, looking more mundane than Steve had ever seen him in real life. What the hell kind of weird dream was this?_

_Normally, in his nightmares, Bucky was tied to the chair, screaming._

_Normally, Steve couldn’t save him._

_Despite the eerie scene, the chair, the dim, flickering lights...there was a sense of peace that overwhelmed Steve here, but he had no idea why._

_A sense of hope fills Steve’s chest. Could it be…?_

_“Buck?” Steve calls quietly. “Are you...okay?”_

_“What are you doing here?” Bucky ground his teeth together, looking embarrassed. His longish hair was tied into a messy bun at the back of his neck. The lighting cast long shadows down his face. “You shouldn’t be here.”_

_“I’m dreaming of you,” Steve admitted softly, looking around at the warehouse. “I wish we’d go somewhere more pleasant. Why do we always end up here?”_

_Bucky blinks, and the realization dawns on him. “I fell asleep thinking of you, too,” Bucky says, as if something was obvious. “Goddammit.”_

_Steve sighed softly, as the realization came over him. This wasn’t just_ his _dream._

_He was in Bucky’s dream. This was real._

_Dream Sharing was something Steve had taken for granted, before the ice. It happened so often back then, Steve never knew a moment of loneliness, even in his dreams._

_While Hydra captured Bucky when Steve was first enlisted, Bucky had used his dreams to communicate to Steve where he was. Steve had been able to save him._

_He supposed Hydra had learned their lesson after that one._

_The Winter Soldier never shared a dream with Steve, though he supposes it was only days after Bucky fell that Steve landed his plane in the ocean and froze for the following few decades._

_And by the time he woke up, Hydra made sure that Bucky didn’t remember him enough to fall asleep thinking of Steve, or likely anything remotely peaceful._

_Dreaming had always been a natural means of communication between them, their minds and souls and hearts so intertwined that it was like second nature, reaching out, falling into each other’s dreams._

_Now, though, the feeling was alien. The last time they shared a dream, just a few nights ago, Steve hadn’t realized what was happening until the dream was over. Now, though, knowing that this was_ real-- _it felt impossible._

 _Steve hadn’t known this connection in_ years. _He thought that the time between them had made it impossible for them, or that Bucky was avoiding him. But now..._

_“This is real," Steve murmurs, his eyes widening. "Bucky!” Steve shouted, running towards the Alpha._

_Bucky didn’t hesitate, opening his arms wide. Steve flung himself into them, the force of his embrace causing Bucky to stumble back a few feet._

_“Oh, honey,” Bucky crooned in his ear. Steve knew he was holding Bucky but he couldn’t feel his warmth, and couldn’t smell him, either. Still, it felt closer than anything he’d had in such a long time. “Oh, Steve,”_

_“You’re here,” Steve sobbed, not even realizing he was really crying until Bucky_ tsked _in his ear. “Is it real?” He wanted desperately to believe that he wasn’t just making this up._

_“It’s real. Don’t cry, Steve,” Bucky pleads. His own voice sounds thick, like he might be fighting back tears himself. “Hate it when you do that.”_

_“Sorry, sorry,” Steve apologizes quickly, not wanting to ruin their time together. He knew at any moment one of them could wake up. “I’m just so_ happy. _I thought this wasn’t possible anymore, after Hydra brainwashed you. Thought they had...interfered with our bond, somehow._ ”

_Bucky looked incredibly guilty. “They...did. At least, they tried. Even removed my mate mark.”_

_Steve shudders at that, although the information wasn’t new. He’d looked for the mark when he discovered Bucky on the bridge, wanting proof that it was really him._

_While it wasn’t there, the flesh was mangled and re-scarred over, like someone had simply cut it off with a knife._

_Probably while Bucky was awake, and screaming._

_Steve’s stomach rolled at that thought._

_He remembered the small bite mark he had given Bucky, along the tendon where his neck met his left shoulder. Steve’s own was in the same spot, still intact, though the serum had faded the scars to be almost invisible, just shimmering slightly in the right kind of light._

_“Doesn’t mean I’m not still yours,” Steve says stubbornly._

_Bucky doesn’t answer that, just swallows thickly._

_“Why hasn’t this happened before?” Steve presses. “Other than the other night. You’ve been hanging around for over two weeks now, right?”_

_Bucky won’t meet his eyes. “I haven’t been sleeping at the same time as you,” He admitted softly. “To avoid this.”_

_Steve shudders at that confession. “Avoid...me,” He corrects, stepping out of Bucky’s arms. Bucky gives him space._

_“Avoiding this...confrontation,” Bucky corrects softly. Steve could simply listen to him speak forever, not giving a damn what he was talking about. The lilts in his voice were mesmerizing, so familiar yet so different. It made Steve dizzy to think about all the ways Bucky was and was not the same. “I didn’t want to face you like this.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“Because I’m a coward.”_

_Steve frowns, not following. “I don’t want lies,” He prompts. “Just be honest with me. I can take it.” he braced himself for impact, for Bucky saying_ I just don’t want you anymore _or_ I’m leaving, for good. _Steve knew he wasn’t strong enough to hear those words from Bucky, but he wanted the truth, no matter how deeply it would cut him._

_He would wake up and lick his wounds later. For now, he had to put on a brave face. Knowing was always better than not knowing._

_“Steve,” Bucky says impatiently, “You have to know how badly I want to come back to you.”_

_Steve takes a step towards Bucky, but Bucky backs up, keeping the space. Steve folds his arms across his chest, defensive. Bucky kept lying to him, and he didn’t understand why._

_“If you wanted to come home, you’d have done it by now.” Steve snaps. “What’s stopping you?”_

_“Lots of things,” Bucky mimics his posture, his arms crossing overs his own chest. The metal arm glints faintly in the flickering lights.Steve tries to detect the shadows in Bucky’s eyes that would hint at his lies, but he sees nothing there except pain, guilt...and maybe a little bit of fondness, though he could just be imagining that. “I’m not...stable, for one. I could hurt you.”_

_“I can tell in your voice that you don’t really believe that,” Steve protests. “You’ve changed, Buck, but I still_ know _you.” His soul, anyway. That part of Bucky could never be a stranger to Steve, no matter what universe they ended up in, what time, what body. That part would always belong to Steve._

 _“I don’t want to believe it,” Bucky corrects. “But I don’t know for a fact that I’m_ not _dangerous. And I’m not willing to test that theory out on you.”_

 _“I’m not the breakable Omega I once was,” Steve sticks up his chin. Back then, Bucky had to be_ careful. _He could have hurt Steve so easily, could have pushed him into an asthma attack during a heat if he left him waiting too long...but he never did. He always knew the exact pressure with which to hold him, the exact words to say to calm him down._

_Steve wondered if they could ever find that unity again._

_“Besides that,” Steve is impatient. Bucky seems so much like himself now, in this quiet room. How could he be dangerous to his Omega? How could anything keep them apart? They belonged together. They were stronger that way. “What other reasons are you using to justify hurting me like this?”_

_Bucky winced visibly at that wording, and Steve knew he had hurt the Alpha, but he couldn’t make himself feel bad about it. He was tired of playing games, he had to speak in a way that made Bucky understand the true consequences of him staying away. They were both hurting without the other._

_“People are looking for me.”_

_“Hydra.” It’s not a question. Steve knows Bucky has enemies._

_“Yeah. And--they won’t_ stop, _Steve. Not until they get me. And they want me alive,” Bucky shudders visibly. “But it’s more than that. I need to stop them, soon. Within the next few months.”_

_“I don’t blame you for wanting to see the people who hurt you suffer for it. Hell, I want to see it too! Let me help you!” Steve takes another step closer, and this time, Bucky lets him. “Please, Buck. I’m good. Fast, and strong. I can help make you safe.”_

_“No,” Bucky’s voice rang with the kind of finality that Alpha’s seemed to have. “Absolutely not. I won’t let you anywhere near Hydra, Steve. Not when they could get me back so easily. And especially not when--” Bucky shudders, not finishing his sentence. Steve had a feeling there was something Bucky wasn’t telling him._

_“So sit this one out,” Steve suggested. “Let me go in, with my team. Sam and Nat--you’ve been watching me, do you remember them? They’re good, too. Natasha used to be Hydra, she knows how they operate--”_

_“Your friends are good, I’ve analyzed their fighting styles,” Bucky nods, “But Hydra is working on something big, Steve. Something that I can’t have you near.”_

_“Tell me,” Steve breathes. “Help me understand. Because right now...all I understand is that you’re avoiding me, and it_ hurts,” _his voice breaks a little. “It hurts bad, Buck.”_

_Bucky turns away. “I don’t want you to rush into the lion’s den because you think you’re invincible.”_

_“Damn near close,” Steve scoffs under his breath. “Takes a lot to kill me.”_

_“I thought that once, too,” Bucky snaps, a hardness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “And look where it’s gotten me.”_

_Steve winces. He knew he deserved that one._

_“Buck. It’s my job to stop them,” Steve protests. “That’s why I was made to be like this,” he gestures to his muscled body, a far cry from the tiny man he’d once been._

_“Hydra is working on a way to get you to be their new asset. The two of us, together. And I think they can do it.” Bucky shudders. “With two supersoldiers under their belts? Steve, they’d be capable of…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Anything.”_

_Steve’s jaw drops. No--impossible. Hydra had always painted Steve as one of their top enemies, sure, but he figured that was because he was capable of tearing them down, with the help of the other Avengers._

_The agents, following him._

_Bucky keeping an eye on him._

_Watching his six._

_They probably had ample time to make the shot that would have ended Steve’s life, but they didn’t. Because they didn’t want to kill Steve._

_They_ wanted _him. Alive._

_“Oh,” Steve says softly, swallowing. “I see.”_

_“I know you’re good,” Bucky explains quickly. “Fast, and strong. Tactically talented. But--Steve, so is Hydra. You’re not thinking objectively about this.”_

_“I can’t be objective about anything to do with you,” Steve scowls. “The same way you aren’t thinking objectively about it, because it involves me.”_

_Bucky looks a bit called-out at that comment, but Steve holds his ground. He knows he’s right._

_“Regardless,” Bucky says through clenched teeth, “I won’t risk you. Think of what it would mean for them to have one of us, Steve. They’d get the other--it would be a trap.”_

_Steve nodded, knowing that Bucky was right. If Hydra ever got Bucky back, he’d rush in for a rescue mission, unprepared and frantic. He’d be vulnerable._

_Even if he managed to get to Bucky without being captured, Hydra would use him as a bargaining chip. Bucky’s life for Steve’s cooperation. And he’d do in a heartbeat._

_Part of Steve reasoned that Bucky would be a bit more logical going into things if it was Steve they captured first, but he knew, deep down, that that wasn’t true._

_Although Bucky hid it better most of the time, he was even more illogical about Steve’s safety than Steve had ever been about his. He couldn’t help it, really._

_Steve’s reckless nature paired with Bucky’s Alpha instinct and his naturally Mother-Hen personality made one hell of a concoction. And Hydra knew it._

_Hydra was ready to exploit their bond so that they got maximum profit. Two supersoldiers for the price of one._

_“So what do we do?” Steve wraps his arms around himself, and shudders. He didn’t want things to be this hard, this complicated._

_“I’m going to take care of it,” Bucky promises fiercely. He raises his hand like he wants to touch Steve, but he lets it drop, thinking twice about it. “I promise. And then we’ll go from there.”_

_Steve soured at that empty promise. “You’ll get hurt if you go in alone. We’re stronger together.”_

_“And vulnerable. I won’t risk you, Steve. And that’s final.” Bucky boomed, looking away sharply. “That’s the only option I can live with.”_

_“I can’t live with that!” Steve cried out, his voice just as loud as Bucky’s. “I won’t!”_

_Bucky looks up again, and Steve is surprised to find how tortured his expression is, how guilty. “I’m so sorry, honey,” Bucky murmurs in a low voice, dripping with self-hatred and guilt. He wets his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue while staring at Steve’s own shocked mouth, and then turns away. “Goodbye.”_

_“No!” Steve cries, but it’s too late. Bucky is gone and shortly after, Steve’s own eyes pop open._

“No!” Steve shouts again, shooting up into a sitting position in bed. “Goddammit, Buck, you asshole! You ass! You fucking _jerk!”_

Steve knocks his lamp off his dresser in an angry swipe of his hand. It crashes against the wall and a shower of glass rains down. It doesn’t give him the satisfaction he thought it would.

He wouldn’t let Bucky rush into danger alone. 

He wouldn’t let Hydra get their hands on Bucky Barnes ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Another angsty one. But what else is new?  
> by the way..I love you guys :)


	5. and I get lonely without you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olfactory responses could be powerful. Scents were always attached to memory.
> 
> Wasn’t it worth a try, even if it didn’t work?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for: mentions of suicide, not graphic. See the end of chapter notes for details!

_Lost through time and that's all I need_   
_So much love, then one day buried_   
_Hope you're safe, 'cause I lay you leaves_   
_Is there more than we can see?_   
_Answers for me_

_And hey, hey_   
_Without you there's holes in my soles_   
_And hey, hey_   
_Let the water in_

_Where ever you've gone?_

-"Don't forget about me", Cloves

* * *

Steve makes the decision on a Saturday morning, four days after their dream where Bucky revealed that Hydra wanted Steve as their newest asset.

Steve hadn’t heard from Bucky since even before the dream. His phone stayed void of messages, despite the obsessive amount of times he checked it, and he was getting desperate. 

Steve had tried everything to get him to make contact--he’d left the windows unlocked, the doors, he’d tried to text and even call Bucky’s number...to no avail. 

He fell asleep thinking of nothing but Bucky, but his dreams were lonely and full of longing, with no trace of the Alpha there except the usual screams of agony while he suffered at Hydra’s hands, while Steve watched, helpless.

He woke up to everything unlocked as he had left it, with no trace that Bucky had been in the apartment. 

There were no replies, no signs of Bucky in the crowd as he walked through it, meeting the eyes of every stranger he passed. 

Nat hadn’t gotten any more hits on facial recognition software. 

It was like he’d disappeared. 

There was no proof he was still in New York--there was no proof he was still in the _country._ Twelve days is a lot of time. 

He could be anywhere at all. Anywhere in the world. 

Including with Hydra...suffering, _again,_ while Steve did nothing to save him. _Again._

[7:03 AM ] 

Nat: Want to do lunch? Haven’t seen you in a while.

Steve grimaced down at the message, his chest deflating as he realized the ping wasn’t from Bucky. 

Lunch...he hadn’t really been eating anything other than protein shakes for the past week or so, and his appetite definitely wasn’t what Nat was used to seeing. 

The thought of keeping anything down right now made him clench his stomach in disgust. He didn’t think he’d be able to stomach a single bite. 

Natasha would know something was wrong, and Steve didn’t want to be put under her microscope today. He had to avoid her for the time being.

[7:19 AM ] 

Steve: Sorry, I promised Sam I’d volunteer at the VA this afternoon. 

[7:21 AM ] 

Nat: No you didn’t. But it’s okay. 

Nat: Want to talk about it? 

Steve ground his teeth together. She’d caught him in his lie. 

[7:36 AM ] 

Steve: No. 

He puts his phone back in his pocket. He was becoming so transparent--Natasha wasn’t going to hold off for much longer before she forced her way in and made Steve confess that the way he was living was unhealthy. 

He knew he couldn’t go on like this, wasting away. 

He had lost 15 pounds, the biggest drop he’d had since coming off the ice. 

He wasn’t sleeping, so his mind always felt foggy, and he hadn’t left the apartment in days. Every cell in his body felt lost, knowing Bucky was out there but not close enough to smell or see or touch. 

He needed Bucky back. He knew that down to his very core.

And he knew that even if Bucky didn’t admit it, he must want Steve back, too. He had to be hurting, even if it was just a fraction of the longing that Steve was feeling.

[8:02 AM ]

Steve: Buck? 

Steve: Please just let me know you’re okay.

He waits for fifteen minutes in vain. 

No reply, not that he really expected one with the radio silence he’d been receiving. 

He was running out of ideas. 

He had no other way to contact Bucky, and it’s not like he has an address to go knock on his door. 

Steve bends down in front of his sink and splashes water on his face. When he straightens again his reflection startles him.

The man staring back at him has sunken, purple bags under his eyes, and cheekbones sharper than he remembered. He had a dark, haunted look to his gaze, and dry, cracked lips. 

Steve blinked and opened the medicine cabinet. 

The man disappeared. A ghost of who Steve had been before. 

He wondered if Bucky missed him even half as much as Steve missed his Alpha. 

Absent-mindedly and out of habit, Steve grabs the little prescription bottle and dumps two tiny pills into his hand, about to lift his hand to his mouth to take them, when he hesitates, an idea dawning on him. 

He had to make a choice.

Who knew when Bucky would decide to reach out again, if ever? 

This could be Steve’s last chance at urging Bucky to make contact. If he didn’t do something dramatic, something...a little insane....in the present, then Bucky might not be a part of his future. 

He could lose Bucky, _again._ After everything they’d been through, they could slip apart once again. 

Their second and third chances, gone.

His suppressant and scent-blocker stared back at him. 

Such a tiny pill, but such _big_ consequences if he didn’t take it regularly. 

He hadn’t missed a day since coming off the ice, knowing how severe the consequences would be if he skipped even just one pill, let alone if he forgot for a few days in a row.

They didn’t have such things back when Steve was mated, but then, he’d never needed them. 

Mated Omegas stopped taking pills because they’d always have someone to help with their heats and their scent would be tied to their Alphas indefinitely, so the pills weren’t necessary. 

Steve winced--he wasn’t really _unmated,_ but he felt impossibly unclaimed. Unwanted.

When Omegas were without a mate, the pills helped to stop heats, and made their scent something less distracting to be around. 

By not taking these two little white pills, his scent would change, morph into something closer to what it was before the war, though still a little different because of the serum and Bucky’s lack of proximity. 

He would also have to go through a heat, something he’d never done alone in all his years of life.

If he had a heat, he’d be in...pain. Big time pain. He’d never spent a heat without Bucky, and after the serum, his heats got _so_ much worse, so much more painful. He couldn’t even imagine going through that pain alone. 

Steve stares down at the pills again. Without them, his true scent would come back. He’d smell how he smelled in the 40’s. 

How Bucky would remember him smelling. 

Would that...help? 

Would it trigger something in Bucky? 

Olfactory responses could be powerful. Scents were always attached to memory.

Wasn’t it worth a try, even if it didn’t work? 

Bucky had been sneaking in, leaving...keeping close. Maybe this would do something. Maybe it would spring him into action. If he couldn’t appeal to Bucky’s logical side, maybe Steve could appeal to his instincts. That was, after all, the most basic element of their connection. Alpha to Omega. Bonded, mated. Sealed with a bite and promising to die together. They wouldn’t have it any other way.

Maybe this way, Bucky would want him again. 

Steve looks at the pill again, and then dumps it down the toilet. He stares at the rest of the bottle, hesitating only slightly before shaking the rest of the contents down the drain as well. 

_There,_ he thought, with sick satisfaction, as he flushed the toilet. _No turning back now._

No turning back indeed. 

*******

Sam invites him over for a beer that same night, and although Steve wants, more than anything, to stay at home curled up with his own misery for company, he knows that Sam would assume something was wrong if he declined, after already getting out of plans with Natasha. 

Steve had to at least put on a show for his friends, they didn’t deserve to spend their days worrying about their spiralling Captain America. 

Steve could pull it together for one night. 

Hopefully.

Natasha was a bit more analytical than Sam, and, being an Alpha, Nat was just more sensitive to the feelings of Omegas than Sam was, as a Beta. Steve wasn’t sure he could fool her as easily. 

It would be hard enough to convince Sam that he was fine, he couldn’t deal with Natasha, too. He was silently relieved he’d only have to put on a show for one tonight.

“Hey, man, c’mon in!” Sam greets him at the door, stepping aside for Steve to shuffle into the spacious apartment.

The other Avengers lived in the tower, Sam included, and his place was huge. Big windows, marble flooring...but somehow homey, too. It smelled like Sam, and that safe Beta scent impacted Steve more now than he was off of his suppressants. He wondered if he smelled any different to Sam, and waited with narrowed eyes for Sam to say something about it, but he doesn’t. 

Perhaps the smell of sadness was thick enough around Steve that it covered up the stench of Omega.

Sam had plastered the walls with pictures and mementos. Steve felt very at ease here, even if he was a bit worn-out for social interactions.

Steve was the only Avenger who had refused Tony’s offer to live in the tower. 

His place was in Brooklyn, in a loft apartment that was nicer than anything he ought to be able to afford, in his opinion, but still modest considering the alternative. He had always belonged to Brooklyn, after all, and couldn’t bring himself to call anywhere else home.

“Hey, Sam,” Steve sits down heavily on the couch, leaning back against the plush cushions. 

Sam hesitates for a moment, watching him curiously as he pops the top off of his beer bottle. Steve can feel the heavy weight of his glare.

“Spit it out,” Steve sighed, staring up at the ceiling, bracing himself. “Let me have it.” 

“No, it’s not--I’m. Sorry,” Sam apologizes quickly, his words coming out rushed. “You just--"

“Look like crap?” Steve suggests with a put-upon sigh. He expected that much. “Yeah. Been hearin’ that a lot, recently. Kinda startin’ to damage my ego.” 

Sam takes a seat on the couch beside him, sipping his beer and handing one to Steve. Although Steve didn’t drink it for the buzz--his serum prevented him from feeling the effects of any alcohol that wasn’t Thor’s space-shit--the ritual was still nice. Made him feel more...normal. 

“No more jokes,” Sam says disapprovingly. “What’s been going on with you, man? I know you’re worried about Barnes, but,” Sam shakes his head. “There’s something else. I’ve never seen you like this...” Sam sniffs the air delicately, and then wrinkles his nose. “You even _smell_ different.” 

Had the suppressants impacted Steve’s smell _that_ much already? He didn’t want to fess up about that particular incident. He already _knew_ how unhealthy it was for him to be taking such extreme measures, he didn’t need Sam to lecture him about it. 

Steve was pretty confident that as a Beta, Sam wouldn’t pick up on the exact reason Steve was beginning to smell differently, but as he went longer and longer without his medication, he wouldn’t be able to fool anyone.

For now, though, he could make it work.

“I told you about Bucky contacting me,” Steve murmurs quietly, keeping his eyes down. He had to change the topic, and Sam did deserve honestly, even if Steve couldn’t (wouldn’t) give him the full story. “Now I haven’t heard from him in over a week. It’s got me real worried. If something happened...I wouldn’t even know. He could be--” Steve cuts off. He couldn’t stand to say it out loud. 

Bucky could be dead _right now._ Steve would have no way of knowing until weeks, months from now, he or his team finally stumbled across a body. 

Part of him wants to think, stubbornly, that because Bucky is still his mate, he would _feel_ that something happened to him, but truthfully, he had no idea if that was true anymore.

That thought leaves a pang of unease echoing through his body.

Sam frowns. “I’m sorry, man. That’s gotta be stressful…” he hesitates, and Steve meets his worried eyes. “Maybe it has something to do with those Hydra agents that were following you. Maybe he went to take down more of them?”

That thought wasn’t as comforting to Steve as Sam may have thought it would be when he offered it up.

He shudders at the idea of Bucky rushing in against Hydra, alone. “I don’t know,” he shakes his head. “It feels like more than that. Like this is my last chance to get him back, and if I don’t, then I’ll lose him. Again.” His voice breaks on the last word, but through sheer will power alone, he doesn’t let himself cry.

Sam’s large brown eyes turn their full power on Steve, and Steve can understand so easily how people feel comfortable pouring their hearts out to Sam in therapy sessions. “You ever considered...talking to someone? About him?” 

“I talk to you about him,” Steve says defensively, pretending not to know what Sam meant. 

“Sure, sometimes. Rarely.” Sam disagrees with a shake of his head. “I can be your friend, dude, but I can’t be your therapist, too. And I think you’d really benefit from talking to a professional about this.”

Irrational anger bubbles up in Steve at this suggestion, and he takes a deep breath to quell it. What Sam was suggesting was reasonable--he saw his friend in distress and offered a solution he knows from experience works. 

But Bucky wasn’t some _problem_ that Steve could explain away. 

Bucky was Steve’s own soul, in another body. 

Part of Steve was _gone._ He was empty without his mate. That wasn’t something talking could ever fix.

“Maybe,” Steve muttered, keeping his eyes down. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe Bucky is just hanging back for a while. Maybe he doesn’t want to get too close.” 

Steve shakes his head. “But why? Doesn’t he trust me enough to know that I’d let him _kill me_ before I could ever bring myself to raise a hand against him?” Steve snapped, setting his beer bottle down with a sharp _bang._ “I mean, Christ. He’s my _mate,_ Sam. My Alpha. I crashed--” Steve cuts off sharply. 

He had never mentioned out loud that him crashing the plane into the Atlantic in 1945 had been anything more than a heroic act, the necessary thing to do to save innocents.

Really, it was cowardly. Steve had been _hurting,_ a deep, aching kind of pain that makes everything feel like burning and numbness all at once. He had _lost_ Bucky. He was _alone,_ in a war that meant nothing to him without someone to fight for. 

So he went down, with his last, ringing thought a resounding cry of _hope._ Maybe, when the darkness got to him, finally, he’d see Bucky again. In whatever life they had next, they’d find each other again. Steve had really believed that, going down, and in a way...he was right.

Neither of them were the same man they’d been in the 40’s, so perhaps this was their new life. And indeed, they’d found each other. 

They always found each other.

“--I just don’t want to lose him again,” Steve finishes softly, before Sam thinks too hard about why Steve had cut off so abruptly. He didn’t want to explain that fateful mission, the implications of putting his plane in the water so willingly, so easily. It had been a mercy, to not have to feel that pain.

“Steve,” Sam said, like he was missing something obvious. His brown eyes are the softest Steve had ever seen them, like melted chocolate. He was doing that thing with his eyebrows he always did when he was about to deliver some hard-to-swallow news. Steve braces. 

“I think that’s the _point.”_

“What?"

“The point of Bucky staying away from you. You said he seemed worried about you, right? Waking you up from nightmares, coming inside to lock up your doors and windows?” 

“Yeah, but--”

Sam goes on, his eyebrows climbing higher and higher as he explains. “But nothing. Steve, I think Bucky is afraid to come back because he _knows_ that you would let him hurt you before you defended yourself.” 

Steve blinks a few times, stunned. Could that be? 

Sam sees the link in Steve’s stubborn armour and continues on before the blond can interrupt him again. 

“--you said so yourself. You wouldn’t hurt him. But think about what he’s been through with Hydra, the organization who literally tore him apart. They’re his biggest fear, Steve, and...you are possibly the thing that means the most to him, even now. Do you really think he can be sure that _he_ won’t hurt you _?_ Even if he really doesn’t want to?” 

Sam’s theory made a little more sense has he continued. 

“Think about what Bucky’s mind has been through. The programming, the torture. Do you think he would be willing to take that risk if there was even the slightest chance that you wouldn’t be safe around him? What if he’s staying away because he doesn’t trust himself around you?” 

“Because he cares,” Steve finishes with a broken voice, the realization dawning on him. Bucky _cared._ He valued Steve’s life. He didn’t want to risk it. “Because he doesn’t want to hurt me.” 

“Exactly,” Sam said with finality, a small smile growing on his lips. “Steve, this is a good thing.” 

“How?” He choked out. If Bucky thought that him staying away was the right thing for Steve, Steve didn’t see how he’d ever convince Bucky of otherwise. 

When it came to Steve’s safety, Bucky didn’t ever leave much room for compromise, and Steve didn’t see that fundamental aspect of him changing anytime soon. Bucky was as stubborn as Steve.

“It means he _cares_ ,” Sam insists. “He would rather stay away and miss you than he would be selfish and see you at the risk of hurting you.” 

“He’s hurting me by staying away,” Steve mutters childishly, his lips set in a very unbecoming pout.

Sam rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.” 

Did he? Steve stared into his beer, his brow furrowed. “So where do we go from here?” he mutters, unsure if it was to Bucky, or to himself, or to Sam. But the words felt right, like the next logical step. 

Where _could_ they go from here? 

“Well,” Sam takes a deep breath, and a sip of his own beer. “We need to wait for him to make contact again. You said you hadn’t heard from him in a few days, right?” 

“Yeah. Hasn’t been answering my texts.”

“Okay, well. We need him to reach out again. Then we can explain that we’ve got resources at our disposal that can help him gain control of his own mind again.” Sam sounded so calm, his words deliberate and articulated. Steve could have kissed him right now for the sense of sureness that he was giving Steve. They _would_ reach out. They _would_ help Bucky. 

“You think he’ll ever get into contact again?” 

“Yes,” Sam says, sounding entirely confident. “He won’t be able to stay away. Especially considering how many times you do something fucking reckless. Like most of us, Rogers, we can’t help but be around to fuss and worry over you.” 

Steve snorts at that, but Sam’s words painted a very tempting picture. Bucky reaching out, Steve talking some sense into him. 

A happily ever after, where Steve and Bucky got to be together again.

“It’s a nice idea, anyway,” Steve muses, picturing a future where being with Bucky was as easy as breathing. There didn’t have to be anymore sleepless nights or missed appetites, there were no more anxiety attacks or broken hearts. Just the two of them, existing together, happy without ever having to be lonely. “Even if it isn’t true.” 

“Have hope,” Sam said easily, like hope was the thing that would save, instead of destroy, Steve. “I do.”

“Right,” Steve agrees absently, thumbing the label off of his beer, a nervous habit. “Hope.” 

They don’t talk the rest of the night about _hope_ or _Bucky_ or anything that made Steve’s heart give a broken, lonely thump. 

It was easier that way, for everyone involved. 

They talk about sports, about Clint’s new hair cut, about Steve buying a new motorcycle. They laugh (Steve tries, at least) into the night, and when Steve finally says his goodbyes, he feels absolutely drained. 

**

Steve has a Very Bad Day. 

Barnes isn’t sure what triggers this down spiral of mood, but it’s decidedly _hard_ to witness. Something in him recoils at the knowledge that Steve is hurting.

Steve doesn’t meet his friends in the morning for coffee, even though he’d promised to the night prior, and he doesn’t answer their worried calls. 

When Barnes had been in the apartment last, about twelve or so days ago now, the fridge had been nearly empty. There had been clothing on the floor. 

Not to mention the protein shake diet, the no sleeping, and the barely ever leaving the apartment. 

Steve wasn’t doing so hot, and frankly, Barnes had seen enough.

He hears Steve open the fridge door, sigh, and then close it again. 

Two minutes later, he hears the shaker cup furiously being shook. Another protein drink. 

Barnes hadn’t known Steve to eat a single vegetable in the past two weeks. Not once, not even on _pizza._

He was fed up. 

As an Alpha, he was personally offended that his Omega--no. No, _not_ his--that _Steve_ wasn’t taking care of himself. 

His body deserved better. It deserved Sarah’s home cooked meals and fresh bread and corn dogs from Coney Island. And kisses. Lots of kisses, all over…

Barnes grinds his teeth together, resisting the memory that pushes from under the surface, but he can’t fight it. It washes over him. 

It comes in fragments. Steve, shivering, his lips blue and eyes sunken with pneumonia. The salt water, sore shoulders--the docks. The war, with the loud sounds and his brave, brave, Omega. 

Braver than he ever was, leading the way. Being the hero. Throwing himself into danger. 

Bucky hadn’t _ever_ wanted this life for Steve. But he had always known that something in those blue eyes was destined for more. For more than Bucky Barnes. 

A voice, softer than the flutter of a butterfly’s wings, echoes in the back of his mind. 

_I love you, Buck,_ it murmurs quietly. _You got me, for life._

His voice--from many years ago, answers the ghost. _You got me, sweetheart. Body, mind, and soul. Whatever’s left of it, anyway._

Barnes shudders, and the memories dissipate, like shaking off rain. 

He stares at his phone, debating. He knew Steve wasn’t doing well. Maybe he could shake some sense into him. It was his only hope.

With a sigh, he picks the phone up, and opens Steve’s contact. 

He knows that the blond is awake, because he hears the TV faintly in the background through his ear piece and Steve’s frequent sighs, as he loses interest and changes the channel over and over again, never resting on one thing for longer than five minutes.

Barnes types out a quick message and sends it over, waiting. 

[12:09 PM ]  
UNKNOWN: Enough, Steve.

UNKNOWN. You ain’t taking care of yourself. 

Steve replies back in seconds, as though he were staring at his phone just waiting for a message to come through.

[12:09 PM ]  
Steve: Thought you were ignoring me.

Steve: I’m fine. Was worried ‘bout you. You okay? 

Steve: Kinda lost touch with you for a while. You were avoiding me.

Barnes clenches his jaw. He didn’t like thinking that Steve doing poorly was because of him. Hadn’t he caused this man enough pain? Did Steve really not realize that he _wasn’t_ doing well, or was he that ignorant to his own well being? 

Barnes did remember how much Steve had to be pushed to take care of himself. He always put himself last on his list of priorities.

He had to get Steve to see that what he was doing was bad for his health.

And he _had_ to stay away. He couldn’t let himself be weak. Steve’s safety was worth more than Barnes’ own personal desire to be close to the Omega.

[12:11 PM]  
UNKNOWN: You aren’t eating right. Or sleeping enough.

UNKNOWN: You haven’t left the apartment in days. 

He waits, anxious for Steve’s reply. 

[12:21 PM ]

Steve: I’m okay. 

Steve: I’m fine. 

Steve was insisting, sure, but Bucky had little reason to believe him. 

“Don’t lie,” Barnes grits under his breath, his flesh hand flexing around the little phone. “Not to me.”

[12:25 PM]  
UNKNOWN: Worried about you. 

[12:30 PM ]  
Steve: I was worried about you. So I know the feeling.

Steve: I’d feel better if I could see you. Smell you. 

Steve: I thought you left me. 

Bucky’s heart gave a sympathetic squeeze. He wanted all of that from Steve, too. 

He was only beginning to remember fragments of their life together, he knew he was missing lots of pieces, but even still. He remembered how it felt to have Steve close, his scent, his arms around Bucky. 

It was a feeling of peace like he had never known post-Hydra. A feeling he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to have again. 

After all, he was the monster, now. He was the one Steve needed protecting from. The fact that Steve didn’t think so didn’t really make a difference either way--Steve was just too trusting.

[12:31 PM ]  
Steve: Don’t you miss me at all? Even a little? 

Steve: Don’t you want to...hold me? 

Bucky exhales sharply. 

Steve wasn’t playing fair. 

If it was as easy as that, Bucky would have been back the second he was far enough away from Hydra. The second he remembered Steve’s laughing blue eyes, the way his body always fit so perfectly into his own, even after the serum…

But it _wasn’t_ as easy at that. There were other things at play. Big things.

Barnes wouldn’t hurt Steve. Not ever again. And he _would_ make things safe before going back. That was the only option.

Thinking of Steve facing even a _fraction_ of what Barnes went through with Hydra makes every fibre of his being recoil in disgust. Everything in him rejected that that was a possibility. It was unimaginable. Barnes would been the biggest failure of all if he were to let it happen.

[12:34 PM]  
UNKNOWN: Don’t. 

He hesitates, and then types: 

UNKNOWN: Please, Steve. I can’t. 

Steve doesn’t give up, though. He is relentless, Barnes is learning. He doesn’t often, if ever, give up.

[12:42 PM ]  
Steve: I need my Alpha.

Barnes closes his eyes. It had been a long time since he was anyone’s _anything,_ except for Hydra's weapon. The words resonated somewhere deep in his ribs, and holed up there, slowly eating away at him every moment he wasn’t with Steve. 

[12:59 PM ]  
UNKNOWN: You’re strong. You’re going to be okay. 

Steve’s answer comes quickly.

[12:59 PM ]  
Steve: You’ve been watching me. Do I look strong? Do I look...okay?

Bucky presses his lips in a thin line. Steve had him there. 

The past week or so, Steve has looked anything _but_ strong. 

Sure, he was still muscled enough to lift a vehicle over his head, but it was more than that. There was something in his eyes that looked so defeated, when Bucky had seen him. 

Like he was giving up the fight. 

[1:06 PM ]  
Unknown: So you admit that you’re not doing well.

[1:12 PM ]  
Steve: Yeah. Fine. I admit it.

Steve: I’m fucking falling apart.

Barnes knew how much it probably cost Steve to admit those words to him. 

It had to mean that not only were they true, they weren’t even half of what Steve was _really_ going through. 

Barnes remembered Steve’s steely resolve to never tell the full story when he was hurting. 

It still irritated Barnes as much as it did back then. Possibly more.

[1:28 PM] 

UNKNOWN: I’m sorry.

UNKNOWN: I wouldn’t have reached out if I knew it was going to hurt you more. 

[1:29 PM ]  
Steve: It’s not that. I’m glad you’ve been contacting me. It’s probably the only thing keeping me going.

Steve: I just want to smell you again. You’ve been using scent blockers. 

Steve: I’m starting to forget what you smelled like. 

[1:24 PM ] 

UNKNOWN: You use them, too. 

[1:25 PM ]  
Steve: Yeah. Suppressants.

Steve: You miss the way I smell? 

Barnes clenches his jaw. How much could he give away? He didn’t want to hurt Steve anymore, but he was tired of lying to him. Steve deserved the truth, or at least, some semblance of it.

[1:31 PM ]  
UNKNOWN: If I could remember the way you smelled...yes. I believe I would miss it. 

UNKNOWN: I wish I had more to offer you. 

[1:34 PM ] 

Steve: Come. Home.

Every cell in his body was telling him the same thing. _Home._ It had once been a foreign concept to the Soldier, but now...Barnes--Bucky--he knew where home was. Home was the blond man just a few blocks away. His future, his heart. His home. 

But Bucky wasn’t the kind of man who deserved those things anymore.

He turns his phone _off_ and slides out the window of the cramped apartment, into the cool afternoon air. 

He runs a hand back through his hair and wishes he could be the Bucky Barnes that Steve wanted to sing him to sleep, who knew all the words to Billie Holiday songs and could remember the parts that Steve liked most. 

The man that could kiss Steve Rogers and know that he deserved to. Who knew that he ought to be right there, in that apartment, beside his-- _the--_ Omega, and nowhere else in the world. 

He closes his eyes and sends out a silent apology to Steve. He hopes that when the time is right, when it’s safe, Steve can find it in his heart to forgive Bucky for all the pain he’s caused.

***

Steve waits for a reply that doesn’t come, and tries (failingly) to fall asleep, his phone resting on the pillow beside him. He knew full well that it should have been Bucky there instead, and the absence of his Alpha is deeply felt, like a physical buzzing in the back of his mind that he couldn't turn off. 

He doesn’t notice the light sheen of sweat beginning to collect on his forehead, or the fever creeping through his veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW details: Steve admits to himself (not out loud) that he crashed in 1945 purposefully, as a way to escape the pain of losing Bucky. He refers to it as a 'mercy'. 
> 
> ******
> 
> As always, thank you for being so lovely & for all of your support!!  
> I can't wait for you to read the next chapter! eeeek!! 
> 
> Stay tuned :)


	6. cold sheets, where's my love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m still yours. That will never stop--even if you ain’t mine anymore,” Steve says fiercely into the phone. “I’ll always be yours.” 
> 
> “Mine,” Bucky murmurs, his voice taking on a breathy tone that, in Steve’s heat-state, sounded hungry. His toes curled up in anticipation. “Are you?” 

_Cold sheets  
But where's my love  
I am searching high  
I'm searching low in the night _

_Oooh, If you're bled, I bleed the same_   
_Oooh, If you're scared, I'm on my way_

_Did you run away? Did you run away? I don't need to know_   
_If you ran away, if you ran away, come back home_   
_Just come home_

-"Where's my love" , SYML

* * *

Steve curls up tighter around himself, taking up less than half of the giant bed. His mind is racing with thoughts of Bucky, and sleep doesn’t come easily that night. 

Their conversation that afternoon had been...heartbreaking. 

Steve could _feel_ that he was so close to breaking Bucky’s resolve. He just had to push him a little bit further. 

Being off his suppressants had finally been taking a toll on him, and his entire body felt restless, like each cell was alive with renewed vigor to find his Alpha. 

He clenched his fists under the covers and then released them. Nothing could be done tonight; he just had to lay very still and hope that sleep would come.

He didn’t remember when he was this hormonal last, and he felt utterly and desperately alone without his Alpha, even more so than he had when the suppressants were regulating his hormones. 

Steve stayed in bed for three hours, watching the changing sky through his bedroom window, his posture frozen, as if he could will the peace to come. It does not. His insides are a raging ocean, with no rest to be found.

His mind wandered to the days where he could have rolled over and ended up right in Bucky’s arms, where he couldn’t have stretched out in their small bed without being surrounded by Bucky’s bulk and warmth. 

He had taken it for granted, back then, thinking Bucky’s heart was something he’d always have. 

Now, he thought back bitterly on those times where he’d simply take for granted the peace that Bucky brought him. He didn’t commit to memory the true sensations, and when he tried to recall them now, they felt far away. He cursed his past-self for the oversight. 

[10:42 PM ]   
UNKNOWN: Check your balcony. 

Steve squints at the message as his phone _dings_ , and jumps out of bed quickly, the covers tangling around his feet as he stumbles to the balcony. He’s desperately hoping to see Bucky there when he opens the wide french doors, his heart in his throat. 

He is clad only in black boxer briefs, and nothing else, not caring who spotted him. 

He only knew that he couldn’t waste time if Bucky was out there, waiting for him, and he was so hot--clothes would only aggravate his aching skin. 

But his heart sank when he realized he was alone yet again, the balcony silent except for the howling wind. He breathes hard, looking around, as if Bucky would appear out of thin air any second now. A few moments pass, and Steve’s chest deflates, leaving him feeling suddenly cold. He wraps his arms around himself and shudders. 

“Bucky?” He whispers softly, his voice carried away by the whistling winds at such a high floor level. 

He gets no reply, but his phone does _ding_ again. He looks down at it with wet eyes.

[10:46 PM ]  
UNKNOWN: Look to your left.

Steve turns to look. 

[10:47 PM]

UNKNOWN: Your other left, punk. 

Steve turns again, unable to fight the small smile at Bucky’s text, even through his watery eyes.

There, where Bucky promised, sat a tied up plastic bag, with a little card sticking out of it. Steve wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it early, but he supposed he was so desperate for _Bucky_ that he hadn’t been drinking in the details. 

Steve squinted at the nearby buildings, knowing that Bucky had to be watching him, but saw no signs of him. 

With reserve, Steve bends down to examine the package, his mouth dry, still reeling from the disappointment of not seeing Bucky there. 

He supposes it was stupid to hope that he’d show himself so easily, and knew he should be grateful for any contact. His chest was starting to feel a little less weighed-down, knowing that Bucky had reached out again, and had indeed been close enough to leave Steve a little surprise. 

[10:52 PM ]  
Steve: I hope it’s safe to assume this ain’t a bomb? 

[10:59 PM ]   
UNKNOWN: Do you know how hard I’ve worked to keep you alive these past weeks? 

UNKNOWN: It ain’t no bomb. Just open it. 

Steve puts his phone down on his patio table and carefully opens the bag. 

He gasps out loud, a small, choked sound. Bucky’s scent hits him like a wall. 

It’s how he _remembered_ \--almost. 

Less cheap whiskey, now, but that musky vanilla and smoke smell was exactly as he remembered it. His _Alpha._

Steve reaches into the bag and pulls out a Captain America sweatshirt that explained where the strong scent was coming from. 

He grins a little at the irony, and holds it up to his face, greedily inhaling the scent some more. Something in his body unlocks at it, like the tension he’d been holding could release, just a little, having this piece of Bucky with him. 

[11:11 PM ]   
UNKNOWN: That better, honey?

UNKNOWN: You said you wished you could smell me. 

A few tears slip out and Steve pulls his face back from the hoodie, not wanting to ruin it with his blubbering. Bucky, of course, didn’t know that Steve had stopped taking his pill, but the gift meant so much more now that he had. The sent rushed through him even more than it would have if he was still on suppressants. It hit him down to his very core. 

Thinking of that, another idea struck Steve. 

[11:14 PM ]   
Steve: You stopped using scent blockers so that you could give me this. 

Steve recognized to his core the sacrifice that it took for Bucky to do that. He was on the run from Hydra, and having his scent be traceable made him _vulnerable._ But he’d taken that risk, for Steve. Because he knew how badly Steve needed this--at least, he knew the half of it. Without the suppressants, Steve’s body craved Bucky’s scent more than ever. 

[11:16 PM ]  
UNKNOWN: Yeah. 

[11:17 PM ] 

Steve: You called me...honey.

[11:21 PM ]  
UNKNOWN: I thought you liked when I called you pet names.

UNKNOWN: I’m sorry. 

UNKNOWN: Please don’t cry. 

Steve bites down his bottom lip hard but can’t stop himself from making a soft gasping sound that sounds more animal than human. 

The grief just rips him up, tears him open, taking him off guard with the ferocity of it. 

Bucky felt so close, so tangible, in that moment, and yet so out of his reach that his muscles shook with the loss. 

“Oh, Bucky,” Steve whispers into the sweatshirt. “Oh, Buck.” 

[11:35 PM ]  
UNKNOWN: This was supposed to make you happy.

Steve shudders. It’s too much. His body was reacting to Bucky’s scent in a way that made him want to forget his own name, forget everything except his Alpha. He knew his response was irrational, manipulative, _wrong,_ and yet--he couldn’t help it. 

[11:39 PM ]

Steve: I am happy, Buck. So happy. Thank you for this. 

Steve: I just miss you a lot. I wish you’d come back.

[11:41 PM]  
UNKNOWN: Read the letter.

Steve opened the note that was also in the bag obligingly. With shaking fingers, he unfolds the piece of paper, and squints through his tears to read it. There, on the page, is Bucky’s unmistakable scrawl, always so much prettier than Steve’s ever was. 

_Steve,_

_Things are complicated right now. I shouldn’t be this close to you, but I can’t seem to stay away, either. I don’t want to leave you, as you’ve probably noticed._

_I don’t know how else to explain this, so I’ll do my best. Then, maybe, you can understand where I’m coming from._

_I remember you, Steve. Stevie--I think I used to call you that. I know there are bits and pieces that I don’t have yet, but I remember who you are and what you meant to me. What you mean. We belonged to each other, wholly. I can see the devotion you still feel towards me, and I want to be the man that is worthy of that kind of love. Do you understand?_

_I want to come back to you. How could I not want that? But it ain’t that easy. I got things I need to take care of first. People I need to see in the ground before we can be safe. Like I said, Hydra is after the both of us, but I know how to take them out. Once I take care of all that, I’m going to turn myself in. I’m a wanted man, and I can’t be anything to you if we have to run from the law. I won’t make you pick between me and your friends. They’re good to you, Steve. They love you, I can see that._

_This will be the last time you hear from me for a while. I’m leaving tomorrow morning. It’s too hard for me to stay in touch with you. I can see that I’m hurting you, and I hate it._

_But I_ _will_ _come back to you, some day, if only to say goodbye for real. I was afraid that if I tried to do this in person that I wouldn’t be strong enough to walk away. I don’t think I’ve ever been good at saying no to you._

_I don’t ask that you wait for me. I’d like to come back to find you settled down, and happy, with someone who loves you like you deserve--but I ain’t stupid. You’ve always been loyal to a fault. So you can wait up, just don’t forget to live your life while you’re waiting. See your friends. Laugh. Take care of yourself. Can you do that, for me? Eat your veggies, maybe? And go to some cooking classes again. Try to watch your 6 while you’re saving the world. And leave your apartment at least once a day, just to get some fresh air...and try to sleep. Maybe I’ll see you there. You always have a place in my favorite dreams._

_Maybe you can write me letters, so that while I’m off making things right, I can come back and read all about every cool thing you’ve been up to while we were apart. I’d like that, I think. I don’t want to miss out._

_I’m sorry I’ve broken your heart so many times. Know that a piece of me will always be with you, no matter what happens next. Even if my mind doesn’t fully know who you are, you’ve never been a stranger to my heart. That part of me has always belonged to you._

_I’m sorry, and I love you, always._

_\--Bucky_

Steve’s legs give out. The weight of Bucky’s words hits him like a freight train. _Leaving._ Leaving, and _remembering,_ and loving him, all in one letter. Bucky loved him, still. He _loved_ Steve. 

Steve had always hoped that that was the case, had always chosen to believe that version of things, but he’d never really known how much you could love someone you didn’t remember. Bucky’s words are comforting and treacherous all at the same time. It’s too much for him. The heat, the letter, the longing--he just _can’t_ do it.

The concrete of his balcony is cold against his legs as he sinks to the ground. When did the air get so frigid? When did this bustling city become a lonely place to be? 

His phone _dings._

Steve tears his eyes away from the letter to look at his screen. 

[12:13 AM] 

UNKNOWN: Forgive me.

Steve reads the message and nearly throws his phone off the balcony. Instead, he forces his fingers to unclench, to drop the device. 

It clatters to the concrete, but he doesn’t think the screen cracked. He couldn’t make himself care, either way. 

“No!” He cries to the open sky. “I don’t fuckin’ forgive you, you asshole!” he screams, hoping Bucky would either hear him or read his lips. “Don’t leave me again. Don’t you dare fucking leave me again!” 

[12:28 AM ] 

UNKNOWN: Steve, I didn’t want to hurt you. 

UNKNOWN: It’s not safe for us, not yet. I need to make it safe.

His words only make Steve angrier. He was beginning to see red. He felt hot all over, his skin crawling with the heat. The cold that had begun to creep up his spine was replaced with fire. 

[12:31 AM ] 

Steve: I’m _trained_ to take down Hydra. Let me help you. We were a great team once.

Steve: We could do it again. Take me with you.

[12:36 AM ]   
UNKNOWN: I don’t want you anywhere near me while I’m doing this. 

UNKNOWN: I don’t want you to see me like that, and I won’t risk them getting their hands on you. End of discussion. 

Steve doesn’t know what to say. He sinks down to the ground and lets the sobs wrack through him violently. He feels broken. 

“I hate you for this,” He sobs softly, not sure if Bucky could pick it up from whatever bugs he had hidden around Steve’s apartment, or if he could lip read past the sobs from the video surveillance or scope he was watching the Omega through. 

Steve didn’t care. The words weren’t for Bucky, they weren’t for anyone. They simply ripped themselves out of Steve’s throat, a visceral, animal reaction to the pain he was in. 

The moon stares down at him, forlorn. It seems as if the whole universe felt his loss. There was nothing to be done, now.

Bucky would leave, and Steve would go through his heat alone, for the first time ever, and he would spend the next few weeks, or months, or--or however long Bucky took--sick with worry. He would waste away, he thinks, living like that. He’d be just a shell. 

By some miracle, Steve manages to pick up the pieces of himself from the cold concrete and shuffle inside. He doesn’t see Bucky, but feels some kind of gaze boring into his back as he does.

“I’m sorry,” He says, to himself, to Bucky, to the future they should have had, the one he let slip away when he didn’t save Bucky from the train. “Forgive _me.”_

***

Steve sleeps with Bucky’s sweatshirt curled up under his face, and it makes sleep come quickly, despite his angry and betrayed state, but he wakes just hours later in a hot panic.

He's drenched with sweat, the sheets sticking to his blazing body. His skin felt prickly, like everything that touched it irritated it. He felt like he was on fire. He rips the sheets away from himself with a wrinkled nose. 

“Christ,” He mutters to himself, rubbing his eyes as he gets a hold on his surroundings. 

He wipes his damp forehead, breathing hard, as the fire increases in his stomach. He pulled Bucky’s sweatshirt away, not wanting to ruin the scent of it with his own sweat. 

Shakily, Steve gets out of bed to turn the air conditioning down, though it was resting at a reasonable temperature, until it was set to a frigid climate that would better suit his condition for the next few days. 

He’d be in agony, he was sure of it. It had been a long time since he'd dealt with a heat before, and he'd never done so alone. 

He wasn’t sure if it was the anger he’d been feeling or the restlessness in his heart, but his body felt alight with the heat coursing through it, every sensation magnified. 

He grabs a glass of water and chugs it down quickly, refilling it and shuffling back to bed, forcing himself to take small sips as he does. The cool liquid provided some relief, but he still feels like he’s boiling alive from the inside out. 

He sits down heavily on the edge of his bed and runs a hand back through his hair, checking his phone for the time when he notices he has 5 missed calls from Bucky’s number.

Steve blinks, instantly alert, the grogginess of his heat fading instantly. 

He sets down the glass so quickly that water sloshes over the side and onto the nightstand. He couldn’t care less. His hands shake as he unlocks his phone. 

Bucky had _called_ him? Why on earth would he have done that? 

His heart instantly starts racing, his mind flipping through the possibilities. 

Bucky could have been in trouble. He could have been hurt--and Steve had slept right through the calls like it was nothing. Bucky could have _needed_ him. 

After all, Bucky had said he was leaving in the morning, which Steve assumed meant any time past midnight, since traveling in the dark was presumably less risky. 

Since it was now two in the morning, Steve would have figured Bucky to be long gone.

He has missed messages, too. He thumbs through them frantically. 

[2:32 AM ] 

UNKNOWN: You stopped taking your suppressants.

UNKNOWN: You didn’t tell me. How could you be so stupid, Steve?

[2:35 AM ]   
UNKNOWN: I can smell you from here. That means other Alphas can, too. 

UNKNOWN: Omegas are rare these days, you know that. You smell too good. Close your windows. Not safe.

[2:37 AM ]   
UNKNOWN: Steve, wake up. You left your windows open. You’re putting yourself at risk.

[2:41 AM ]   
UNKNOWN: I can’t come and close them. I can’t be close to you while you...smell like that. It’s not safe. 

UNKNOWN: I don’t trust myself. 

[2:55 AM ] 

UNKNOWN: Steve, wake up. You need to lock your door. 

UNKNOWN: Steve. WAKE. UP. 

Steve lets out a small breath of relief. Bucky wasn’t hurt, just worried about Steve’s own safety. 

Steve was normally pretty laid back where his own well being was concerned, and he could admit that, but even he knew that having his windows and doors open while going through heat as a technically unmated Omega was dangerous. 

He knew he could handle any Alpha that decided to investigate, but he was setting himself up for the unnecessary risk, and putting Bucky through the wringer while doing so. 

  
  


[3:23 AM ] 

Steve: Sorry. Was asleep. 

Steve: Yeah. I stopped taking my suppressants. 

Bucky’s reply is immediate. 

Steve can sense the anger in his messages, and he feels a shiver run through his burning body. He was starting to run on pure instincts, and the thought of upsetting his Alpha didn’t sit well with him. He fought past it, though. 

He didn’t want to roll over and show his throat. 

He remembered the anger he’d felt towards Bucky before he fell asleep, the way Bucky had been able to walk away without a second glance backwards. He was going to leave Steve.

[3:23 AM] 

UNKNOWN: Why. 

UNKNOWN: You’ve been on them since coming off the ice. What changed.

[3:25 AM ] 

Steve: Not good for my body to be on them for this long.

Steve: Why do you even care? Thought you would have skipped town by now.

His phone rings, the sudden and shrill sound of it making him jump half a foot. 

**UNKNOWN CALL INCOMING.**

Steve gapes at his phone, and with shaking hands, slides to answer the call. All this time of them texting back and forth, Bucky had never tried to reach out via phone call. 

It felt like a gift, a luxury, to have Bucky’s voice in his ear when his body craved his Alpha so strongly.

“H-Hello? Bucky?” 

“What the hell were you _thinking,”_ Bucky’s musical voice growled on the other end. There were footsteps, like maybe Bucky was pacing. It had been _so long_ since Steve had heard Bucky’s voice, and his bones turned to Jell-O at the sound. He let out an audible sigh. “How could you be so stupid?” Bucky demands.

Steve tries to listen to any other background sounds that might give him a clue as to where Bucky was, but generic traffic buzzing but was the only clue. 

“Buck,” Steve murmurs, too enamored at hearing that familiar voice to get angry with Bucky’s tone. He sighs happily, falling back into his pillows, his eyes closing so he could listen to Bucky’s voice with even more focus. He didn’t want to miss anything. “S’you.” 

Bucky hesitates, and his voice is softer when he murmurs, “Yeah, doll. It’s me.” 

_Doll._ Steve felt his muscles turn to mush. The fire on his skin was getting worse.

Steve hummed into the line, “Miss you so goddamn much, Buck.” It was getting harder to remember the anger he’d felt with each passing second. He was filling with bliss, with longing. 

Bucky swallows audibly. “You should take your suppressants, Steve. You’re going to trigger a heat.”

Steve laughs dryly, without humour. “Too late for that, I think,” He grimaces, wiping the sweat from his brow. He could feel the aching, the cloudiness already coming over his mind. He just wanted _Bucky,_ more than food or water or air. More than anything. “Oops.”

“Why stop taking your pills now?”

Steve glares up at the ceiling, feeling an unexpected wave of shame wash over him. Now, with Bucky’s voice in his ear, he felt childish and manipulative. 

How dare he stop taking his pill as a way to get Bucky’s attention, knowing how worried it would likely make Bucky? 

What good would come of this? The heat was spreading over his skin and he could tell that the next few days would be agony. 

Bucky may love him--or he may not--but that didn’t mean he wanted to spend a heat with Steve. Maybe he wasn’t ready. He’d been through so much. Steve had no idea what kind of trauma he’d inflicted. 

“I got d-desperate,” Steve whispers, something terribly broken and lost in his voice. “I got so scared that I wasn’t going to see you again. I’d rather die than lose you. I don’t care how unhealthy that is. It’s the truth.” 

“You’re not thinking rationally,” Bucky murmurs hoarsely. “You’re--"

“I’m _not_ rational when it comes to you,” Steve argues with a choking sound. “I just wanted a way to feel closer to you--and I thought that maybe...if I smelled the way I did back then….you’d remember. You’d want me again.” he shakes his head, though he knows Bucky can’t see him. “I just. I’m _so_ sorry, Buck. I shouldn’t have--I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have stopped taking my medication.” 

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Bucky grits out. “Christ. You need someone to help you--” he whispers. It sounds more like he’s talking to himself. There was panic rushing into his voice--Steve could tell he was freaking out.

“Yes,” Steve agrees, closing his eyes. He runs his hands through his hair, damp with the light sheen of sweat that was all over his body. 

He needed _Bucky,_ not _someone._ He needed his Alpha, who knew just how he liked to be touched, and would be so gentle and loving and would say all the right things...

Bucky is silent for a long pause, not even breathing. Finally, he makes a choked kind of sound. “Romanova?” He croaks out.

Steve’s foggy brain has trouble comprehending the connection. Steve could barely call to mind a mess of red hair in his state--his mind was just echoing thoughts of Bucky. “Huh? What about her?” 

“Is she the one helping you through your heat?” Bucky snaps, a dangerous edge to his tone that Steve had heard before, but never directed at him. “I’ve been smelling her all over you, and I know she’s an Alpha--”

“ _No_!” Steve cries, sitting up sharply at the accusation. “Hell, Buck. No. I ain’t ever been with anyone but you, and that’s the only way I want it.” The thought of another Alpha ever putting their hands on his burning skin makes Steve want to throw up, no matter how desperate he was for an Alpha’s touch. Only one Alpha would do. 

“Oh,” Bucky sounds much calmer now, and he takes a deep breath. He sounds a little bit pleased when he says, “Okay. Good.”

Steve’s heart jumps. “Good? Were you...jealous?” 

Bucky hesitates on the other end of the line. “Don’t have any right to be.”

“I’m still yours. That will never stop--even if you ain’t mine anymore,” Steve says fiercely into the phone. “I’ll always be yours.” 

“Mine,” Bucky murmurs, his voice taking on a breathy tone that, in Steve’s heat-state, sounded _hungry._ His toes curled up in anticipation. “Are you?” 

“Yes,” Steve nearly moaned, his cock growing hard and heavy between his legs. “All yours, Alpha. I don’t want anyone else. I could never want _anyone_ else.”

Bucky sounded wrecked, breathing audibly into the phone. “Steve…”

“Buck,” Steve whines, his hand grabbing fistfuls of the sheets. The burning was getting more intense. “Please. Please come here.”

“Don’t,” Bucky pleads. There is desperation in his tone. “Christ, Steve, please. You know I can’t.” 

Steve gets irrationally upset at that. “Yes, you can. I know you’re close. You said you’re close enough to smell me,” Steve grits his teeth, not wanting to really think about what he says next. “You don’t...want me? Is that why you were really going to leave?”

“What? No. Steve--”

“It’s fine,” Steve rasps, his foggy brain desperately searching for a way to make Bucky snap from the perfect self control he was showing now. He couldn’t do this alone, the fire was building deep in his belly, his muscles were starting to tremble. “I’ll find someone else after all, then.”

Bucky is silent. 

“--I can’t do this alone,” Steve continues, his voice getting hysterical as he thinks about spending the next three or four days alone, writhing in want, with no Bucky around to get him through it. “Maybe Nat will help me after all. Is that what you want, Buck? For some other Alpha to have their hands all over me, make me--make me scream? Scream _her_ name?” Steve tried not to visualize that for many reasons, but he hoped Bucky was. He hoped Bucky was torturing himself with that thought. Maybe it would force some kind of reaction out of him. 

“Is that what _you_ want?” Bucky nearly growls. 

“I want you,” Steve hisses. “But you’ve been crystal-clear. You don’t want to be here, or-or you can’t, or whatever. So I’m just going to have to deal with it.”

Steve hangs up and rolls onto his stomach, his face pressed entirely into Bucky’s sweatshirt. No doubt, the scent of his Alpha had brought his heat on much earlier than he thought it would come. 

Perhaps it would make his heat worse, perhaps it would help. 

There was no way of knowing. Steve had never gone through a heat alone. His heats got a lot worse after the serum. Longer, more intense. His skin would be painful, stinging with anyone’s touch but Bucky’s. 

It was like having an intense sunburn all over your body. Bucky was like the aloe, everywhere he touched the fire cooled. The antidote. 

After a few moments of brooding in the silence of his bedroom, Steve felt a thick wave of shame and guilt wash over him. He had been cruel. 

Bucky didn’t deserve the words that Steve had flung at him. He wasn’t thinking rationally--he never could when it came to Bucky. 

Steve redials the number.

Bucky answers on the first ring. 

“Listen to me,” Bucky begins darkly, but Steve is already rambling on.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve groans. “Jesus, Buck, that ain’t fair of me. None of this is fair. I screwed up, you know? I got desperate, and scared, and...and that ain’t no excuse.” Steve hated himself, in that moment, for what his stubbornness was putting them both through. “I messed up,” his voice breaks a little. He grips the sweatshirt with the hand not holding the phone, letting himself imagine for a moment that it really was Bucky. “I messed everything up. I don’t want anyone else. I meant that the first time.” 

Steve would rather go through the heat alone than have someone else help him, even someone he trusted, like Nat. It would feel so _wrong,_ it would hurt so much worse.

“I’m not mad,” Bucky reassures him, and it sounds genuine, though his voice is thick with some kind of emotion Steve can’t quite identify. “Can’t be mad at you, not for this. I mean--yeah, you messed up.” 

“Big time,” Steve swallows. 

“--big time,” Bucky agrees. “But I wasn’t fair, either. Staying close to you, reaching out, and then...leaving. Again. I know I hurt you. Scared you.” 

“I just...I ain’t strong enough to have you leave me again,” Steve confesses, so softly it’s barely audible. “I know what I’m capable of surviving, Buck, and that?” He shudders. “No. I can’t. I ain’t strong enough.”

Bucky is silent for a few moments. “Oh, honey,” he whispers finally, his voice breaking. “My Stevie. My Omega.” 

_Claimed._ Steve’s lips part. Bucky had claimed him. It was only a verbal claim, a reference in passing, but...that part of Steve that had echoed how unwanted he was, how he didn’t belong to anyone, was gone. Bucky knew, he had to _know,_ that Steve belonged undoubtedly to him. 

“Come here,” Steve pleads desperately, knowing full well he had no right to ask this of Bucky. “ _Please,_ Alpha? Bucky, I need--I just want to see you.”

“I want to,” Bucky promises hoarsely. “You know I do. It’s killing me to be apart from you right now. I can just nearly smell you, and it’s driving me crazy--”

Steve didn’t know that, actually. He wasn’t sure if Bucky was just saying the words to placate Steve, or if he really was struggling between coming to the aid of his Omega or risking him by getting too close.

“So come do something bout it,” Steve dares. 

“I _want_ to,” Bucky repeats, “but if your scent is making it hard to think from where I am, then I can only imagine how confusing it would be to be closer, to be in the _same room_ as you. I could lose control. I could hurt you.”

Steve knew that when in heat, an Omega’s pain sensors were numbed to almost nothing, so he knew where Bucky’s fear was coming from. 

That he’d snap out of it, into a Hydra flashback or something equally as terrible, and hurt Steve. Steve wouldn’t be coherent enough to even realize he was in pain. He’d let Bucky hurt him. 

Even if Steve _could_ feel it, even if Bucky was trying to boil him alive, Steve would let him. But he wasn’t about to tell Bucky that. He had a feeling it wouldn’t do much good. 

“You’ll be careful,” Steve groans. “Won’t you? You’re always careful with me, Buck. Do you remember what it was like, back then? You were always so gentle with me, you took such good care of me--”

Bucky, holding him tight, hushing him with soft kisses as he rocked into him, soft at first, with increasing speed, promising that he’d never leave, that he’d always be Steve’s. The burn faded with every touch of their skin, and slowly, Steve began to feel more grounded.

Now, in his floating-like state, he craved that stability, that touch, that promise. 

“I-I don’t know, Stevie,” Bucky’s voice sounds muffled like he was maybe scrubbing his hands over his face, a common mannerism he was known to do when stressed out. “Jesus. I don’t know what to do.” 

Steve’s bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it hard to keep from whimpering. “You don’t gotta t-touch me,” He suggests desperately, his voice breaking. They were hot, wet tears of frustration. He just _wanted_ Bucky here, and didn’t have the patience or mental capacity right now to reason with his Alpha’s self righteousness. He understood now why some people found _him_ annoying. “Just come sit with me,” He pleads. “Talk to me, let me smell you.” 

“Do you think I’m strong enough for that?”

Steve didn’t know if he himself was strong enough for that, but it was better than the alternative. “I know you are!” Steve cries. “Try. Just try. P-Please.” 

Bucky doesn’t answer, and for a few, lonely moments, Steve is sure he’s scared him away. The burning prickles at his skin, and he puts his phone face down on the dresser beside him, letting out a soft, broken sound.

Just as he’s about to get up and take a cold shower to hopefully get some relief, he hears his a whisper of fabric, and his balcony door opens with a soft _click,_ shutting again a few seconds later. 

Steve sits up sharply and then freezes, every muscle in his body locked as he inhales delicately. 

“Oh,” He murmurs involuntarily, his eyes as wide as saucers. “ _Oh.”_

Bucky Barnes steps into the light of the moon, looking tormented and _hungry_ and relieved all at once. His hands are in fists, his lips are tight...but he offers a soft, “Hey, honey. I’m here.”

Steve inhales again, and the feeling is comparable to taking an inhale of a steaming cup of tea after having an asthma attack. Relief. _Air._ A sense that the worst of it is over.

Bucky is _here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so we can all agree Steve was a little ~problematic~ in this chapter, buuuuut....he's desperate, in love, scared out of his mind, and probably suffering from PTSD and maybe even separation anxiety??? he needs his alpha and a hug and some hot chocolate 
> 
> Anyway, I love hearing your comments / thoughts! Thank you as always for reading & supporting this fic <3


	7. lover come hold me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want to touch you,” Bucky says sharply. He stops pacing, wheeling to face Steve with something absolutely predatory in his face, something hungry. “I want to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end of the chapter notes for translations <3

_Lover come over_   
_Look what I done_   
_I been alone so long_   
_I feel like I'm on the run..._

_Lover come hold me_   
_Heads on the fritz_   
_Body intoxicated_   
_Feelings comfortably mixed_   
_Lover come hold me_   
_Could you forget?_   
_I got a secret_   
_Digging a ditch_

\- "Cringe" Matt Maeson 

* * *

“Bucky,” Steve chokes out, his throat winding up tight with the scent of his Alpha flooding the room, having to fight the urge to cross the gap between them and take Bucky into his arms.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, his voice quiet and restrained, but gentle. He steps into the light of the window, the moon casting an ethereal glow on his face, and Steve takes a minute to really drink him in. His hair is longish, hanging down in his handsome face, but he’s clean-shaven, and wearing a leather jacket over his henley, with clean leather boots. He looks civilian, but also...not. Civilians didn’t _look_ like Bucky, not really. They weren’t built with the same bulk of muscles, the same straight posture. Everything about the way he held himself screamed with awareness. His movements, his posture, his facial expressions….they were all calculated. “You don’t look so good, Steve.”

Steve laughed. Actually, full-on laughed, his whole body shaking with the force of it, doubling over on his side and holding his gut as the laughter wracked through him. He didn’t _look so good?_ Christ. That was the understatement of the century.

He waited, but Bucky didn’t laugh with him. 

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs uncomfortably, shifting his weight. His brow knits together, as he considers Steve carefully. “Are you...crying?” 

Steve opens his mouth to say _no, I’m laughing, Buck,_ but as he does he realizes he’s wrong. He _is_ crying. The laughter was violent sobs, animal-sounding cries of pain, his muscles trembling as if every cell in his body knew the sadness. 

His arms feel so empty as he wraps them around a pillow, just to have something to hold. He feels as though his heart may fall out of his chest if he doesn’t press something against it. He’d rather it was Bucky, but the pillow would have to suffice.

“I--I don’t know-- _w-why_!” Steve sobbed, burying his face in the pillow, his voice muffled. “I don’t know _why.”_

But he didn’t know if that was necessarily true. If he could stop the pain for one second, he was sure he could analyze its roots, get to the bottom of what was digging this hole in his chest. It felt very much like guilt, that awful, gnawing sense that he was _hurting_ Bucky. What he had done was _wrong_. 

“I’m so sorry,” Steve whimpers belatedly. “I’m so _sorry,_ Buck. You didn’t deserve this.”

“No, hey, don’t do that. Don’t cry.” Bucky murmurs, keeping his distance. He looks like he wants to cross the room and take Steve into his arms, but he keeps his back against the wall. Nothing about his posture hinted that this was easy for him, and Steve felt a fresh wave of dread at that prospect. He was unable to be alone, he had been too weak, and now Bucky was suffering for it. If he’d just _taken_ the damn pill, Bucky wouldn’t be standing there with that tortured look on his handsome face. “I don’t think we know how to be rational when it comes to each other."

“You’re in pain, now, because of me,” Steve rubbed the tears out of his eyes impatiently. His heart sank with guilt from what he’d done, eating at him. “You can leave, Buck. I shouldn’t have asked you here. You _should_ go. Please. Please go.” 

“I don’t think I can leave with you like this, even if I wanted to,” Bucky shakes his head. He looks handsome--so handsome it hurts. “You’re still mine, ain’t you?” 

The question makes Steve let out a choked little sob. “ _Yes,”_ he says vehemently, tilting his chin back to expose his neck, the place where Bucky’s mate-mark, his claim, made a shiny scar on Steve’s skin. Proof, in Steve’s darkest moments, that he had belonged to Bucky. That he still did, even when Bucky didn’t remember his name.

“Jesus,” Bucky grits. When Steve meets his eyes, he sees that Bucky’s pupils are blown wide, his hands clenched into fists. His lips are wet and parted, like he’d just licked them. “You look--” He shakes his head, thinking better of whatever he was going to say. “Just quit that, okay? You ain’t making it easy to stay over here.”

Steve shudders at that, a fresh wave of guilt washing over him. He inhales deeply, and then scent of Bucky begins to calm him. “Sorry,” He breathes out softly. “I just want you to know. I’ll always...I’ll always belong to you. _Always._ ”

Bucky’s eyes soften, and he takes a tiny step closer towards Steve. “You should drink some water. Think you can manage that?” Bucky asks quietly. 

Steve eyes the glass on his side table wearily. “Possibly,” He admits, but before he can reach for the glass to refill it, Bucky is already heading towards the kitchen, obviously familiar with the layout of Steve’s apartment from his visits. 

Steve feels desperately alone as soon as he loses sight of Bucky. 

A panic climbs up from his chest. He can _hear_ Bucky rummaging around, grabbing a glass, filling it up with water, but the irrational part of his brain just echoed that Bucky was going to leave him again. 

“Buck?” He calls out quietly, in a shaking voice. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky says quickly, rushing back into the room. “I remember. You--” He bites his bottom lip, gripping the cup in his flesh hand, “You get nervous? Being alone, when you’re in heat?” it was a question, like Bucky was looking to confirm if he could trust his own memories.

“Very,” Steve says breathily, feeling relieved that Bucky was back in sight and that his fresh scent filled the room once more. “Water?” He sat up slowly, holding out his hand. 

“Here,” Bucky stretches out his hand, and Steve grabs it from him, gasping at the moment their fingers touched. Skin on skin. 

Bucky froze, his eyes wide, his jaw tight. 

Steve’s lips were parted, his cheeks flushed, and his mouth was _watering._

Bucky’s skin was cool to the touch, and Steve’s was fire. Even the small surface area of where their skin touched felt soothed...and Steve wanted that sensation all over. Needed it, even.

He had a few hours before his heat _really_ took over, but already, he could feel himself wanting to slip away into the mindlessness, let his Alpha take over.

Bucky yanks his hand away, forcing Steve to take the glass so it didn’t drop to the floor. Steve does, with shaking fingers, and forces himself to take a sip, staring blankly at the glass. His finger buzzed with electricity from where Bucky had touched him. 

It had been so long since he’d felt that touch, the only touch in the world that could sooth him so completely. His _Alpha._ His comfort. 

“This is impossible,” Bucky groans, stalking back to put some space between them again. He runs his hands through his hair, over his face, not looking at the Omega. “I can’t do this.” 

“You can leave,” Steve chokes out, though the words pain him to say. “This is so hard for you, Buck. I _knew_ it would be and I was selfish anyway. You should--you should go. Please, go.”

“I can’t be _here_ and not _touch_ you,” Bucky continues like Steve hadn’t spoken, pacing back and forth in the room, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “It’s going against every instinct I have--”

“Go,” Steve murmurs, trying to sound brave. His voice breaks, but only a little. “I’m so s-sorry I did this, Buck. You’re free. You can go.”

“I want to touch you,” Bucky says sharply. He stops pacing, wheeling to face Steve with something absolutely predatory in his face, something _hungry_ . “I _want_ to.”

Steve sets the glass down beside the first one, his hands trembling as he does. 

“So then touch me,” he challenges, his voice barely above a whisper. His damp eyes meet Bucky’s. “Take care of me, just like you want to.”

“Steve,” Bucky stops pacing. “I...” 

“Wouldn’t it be easier than fighting your instincts?” Steve swallowed. “Your body knows what to do, Buck. Your body knows mine.” And nothing was true of those words weren’t. Steve and Bucky just knew each other, right down to every freckle. They’d spent countless hours in bed, exploring, touching, kissing. Even if Bucky didn’t know it, muscle memory would return, he’d be able to recall with ease how Steve liked to be touched. Held.

“It’s too...dangerous,” Bucky rasps, though it sounds like his resolve is waning. The burning is a constant hum under Steve’s skin, reminding him that relief was just a few feet away. He tries to push it down.

“You really think you’ll hurt me?” Steve pulls his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them. It’s a genuine question, nothing accusatory in Steve’s voice. His skin begins to feel prickly with the heat, like pins and needles, all over. 

“I can’t be sure I won’t,” Bucky murmurs, chewing at his bottom lip. Steve wishes he could do the same. “I can’t risk you, Steve. Not you.” 

“Okay,” Steve says softly. He wouldn’t argue more than that. He’d done enough damage, he’d hurt the broken man before him too many times. The humming of the pain gets louder, demanding more of his attention, but he tries once again to ignore it. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I want to be here,” Bucky protests quietly. “But it’s...hard, for me to be away from you. To not touch you.”

“What if you just...hold me?” Steve asks, shuddering at the anticipation of what it would feel like to have Bucky wrap him up, to make the burning _stop._ The hurt would go away. Maybe he’d even be able to sleep. The buzzing pain gets so loud, so unbearable, that it’s difficult to hear his own voice when he talks. “Would that be okay? It...it would make me feel better,” he says apologetically. 

He feels the thrumming guilt ready to eat at him, but he is so desperate for Bucky’s arms he can’t consider how wrong of him it was to ask to be held, when Bucky was trying so hard to restrain himself.

Bucky’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Steve tracks the movement hungrily. “You’re in pain?” He sounds extremely uncomfortable with that idea. 

Steve’s body ached. “S’not that bad,” he lies gently. “I can handle it. Really, it’s okay. I just--I just thought that maybe, that would be easier--”

“I can try,” He admits, cutting Steve off. Steve knew he was a bad liar, and Bucky probably sensed that his Omega was uncomfortable. His instincts about that kind of thing were never off before, and Steve was sure they were coming back. “Your heat hasn’t started fully yet. We have some time before it’s unbearable.” 

Steve’s heart picks up with the easy acceptance--he was sure Bucky would have turned down the offer out of fear that he might lose control. 

“Okay,” Steve whispers, sliding over in the large bed to make a spot for Bucky. “Okay. Thank you.”

Bucky moves slowly, taking even, measured steps, like he was afraid that Steve would jump him at any moment. But Steve tightens his muscles and lays very still, although it’s difficult to force his body to do so. 

His eyes track Bucky as he takes off his boots and jacket. The shedding of the clothing feels...sensual. Bucky doesn’t break eye contact the whole time, and Steve feels his breathing pick up as the tension in the room builds. _Almost. Almost._ He _almost_ had Bucky’s skin against his. 

The humming is so loud it’s hard to concentrate on anything. The sheets feel like too much against his skin, the air prickles at his face and neck. He was hot, hot, _hot,_ all over. 

It seems to take Bucky hours to reach him, but it must only be a few moments. Steve’s heart is beating so hard he’s almost positive Bucky can hear it.

“Please hurry,” Steve says involuntarily, the buzzing, burning sensation on his skin seeming to increase with every second that Bucky approached but didn’t touch him. _It hurts,_ he wants to say. _Hurry up, Alpha, I need you._

The plea seems to pierce Bucky, as if he could sense Steve’s pain through the two words. He flinches visibly and moves faster, keeping his jeans and henley on as he slides into the bed beside Steve, his muscles stiff. 

Bucky doesn’t lay down beside Steve, but sits up, his back against the head board. He looks down at the Omega with a pained expression. Everything in him was coiled up with the tension, bracing himself, no doubt.

“Can I…?” Steve trails off, breathing hard. Every inch of him wanted to curl around Bucky, to make the fire stop, to make the pain go away. “Please? Please, Buck?"

“Yeah. C’mere, sweetheart,” Bucky croons in his raspy voice, lifting his metal arm to make room for Steve. 

Steve doesn’t wait to be asked twice. He moves quickly to put his head in Bucky’s lap, his arms wrapping around Bucky’s waist, gripping tight. As he does, the humming gets quieter and quieter, until he’s able to hear himself think and breathe again. 

Bucky is warm and solid beneath him, and his scent is strong and _real._ Steve’s hands grab fistfuls of Bucky’s shirt, like he could keep him there by holding on tight enough. 

Everything comes back at once to Steve, every feeling of safety Bucky had ever given him. Their last embrace before Bucky shipped out, the worry, the longing...Bucky grabbing his face and kissing him, hard, when Steve rescued him from Hydra during the war. Early mornings when they’d be awake before the sun, holding each other tight and talking about nothing in particular...

“Buck,” Steve breathes into his shirt, his eyes damp. “Thank you.” He was home. 

“Skin to skin is better,” Bucky says suddenly, like he’s just remembering. “Just--hold on.”

“It’s okay,” Steve rushes quickly, his throat already thick with emotion at having Bucky so close again, but it doesn’t matter. “This is more than I ever--” Bucky pulls away for a moment, and when he leans back towards Steve, his henley is gone, and his bare chest is exposed. 

Steve grabs for the skin hungrily, like he was dying for it (it certainly felt like he was), pressed his face into Bucky’s muscled stomach. 

The relief is palpable. It washes over him like being splashed with cool water, the tension in his body seeping out. 

The years waking up on the ice, his Alpha gone, alone in a way he was never meant to be....the weeks after realizing Bucky was alive, trying to hunt him down, failing again and again to reach him...the sorrow, the heartbreak. It all ended here. Bucky was in his arms. Bucky was whispering sweet things into his ear and tugging him closer.

Steve was safe.

“A-Alpha,” Steve sobs into Bucky’s lap, pushing his face closer. “Bucky.”

It feels safe there. It’s warm, and smells like Bucky, and after a moment of hesitation, Bucky lets out a quiet hum that sounds like he’s pleased, and his flesh fingers rake softly through Steve’s sweaty hair. 

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Bucky croons, his throat sounding a little dry. Steve is pleased at how gentle his fingers are in his hair. He knew, without a doubt, that he was safe. That there was no way in hell Bucky would hurt him right now. “I’m right here. I won’t leave. You’re gonna be alright.”

“Don’t leave,” Steve gasps, his arms tightening. He couldn’t even bear the idea. “Don’t leave without me.”

He faintly hears Bucky swallow. “I won’t,” He murmurs. He sounds honest enough, so Steve relaxes. “Do you think you could get some sleep? You’re going to need your rest.” 

Steve considers the question. Could he find sleep, trusting that Bucky would still be there when he woke?

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in. Bucky’s scent fills his lungs, surrounding him in every way, mingling already with his own scent to create something that reminded him simply of _home._ The next few days would be tortuous. It would be impossible to sleep once his heat came, since he wouldn’t have his Alpha’s touch to calm him. He should rest now, while he had the chance.

He had tricked his body into thinking that the morning would bring Bucky’s hands all over him, Bucky filling him up and kissing him through the pain. His mind knew that was a lie, that he had Bucky’s touch now and perhaps not ever again. 

His body, though...his body believed. And it could be tricked into sleep.

“I think so,” Steve sniffles, shuffling against Bucky. He puts a leg over both of Bucky’s, partly just to get closer, partly so he’d feel if Bucky tried to leave. “For a bit.” 

“Good,” Bucky praises, tracing a light hand down Steve’s neck and back up to his scalp. It feels nice, and it’s just the thing Bucky would do to Steve before the war, when they’d lay in bed and talk about their days and simply _be._ “You should rest. I’ll be here.”

Steve preened under the praise, and closed his eyes, not realizing how heavy his eyelids were until he shut them, unable to find good reason to open them again. Bucky’s scent and his soft hand was enough of a lullaby, but then he began to hum a tune under his breath.

It was a song that Steve had known once, in another life, something soft and quiet, with a smooth melody that Bucky’s honey-sweet voice carried out perfectly. 

“I know that one,” Steve yawns, his grip on Bucky loosening ever so slightly. “It’s….”

“Sleep, Моя любовь,” Bucky murmurs. Steve didn’t speak Russian, but he hoped Bucky had said something beautiful. It certainly sounded beautiful, with that sweet, rough voice in his ear. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. I love you.”

Steve wants to wake up and _talk_ about that--because how could you love someone you didn’t remember?--but he can’t find it in him to shake off the drowsiness that encompassed him like a thick fog. Like he was under some kind of spell just being in Bucky’s presence. 

With a soft sigh, and hopes to see Bucky in the morning, Steve lets sleep take him. 

***

Bucky stays like that, all night, his back propped up uncomfortably against the headboard, Steve’s face tucked into his thigh, breathing in soft little puffs. 

The jean material against Steve’s cheek couldn’t have been comfortable, and the angle he was at was probably less than ideal, too, but Steve hadn’t so much as twitched out of place. His face was smooth of any lines, and he looked more at ease than Bucky thinks he’s ever seen Steve in this new life. The last few weeks, while Bucky was running surveillance on Steve’s place, he’d seen the Omega toss and turn and cry out. Now...he seemed at peace. Perhaps this was exactly the rest he’d been needing.

Bucky tries not to preen about the fact that it’s _him_ that lets Steve sleep like this. His presence puts Steve at ease enough to sleep.

Steve felt safe around him. He could smell it, thick in the air. The scent of contentment. Familiarity. 

Bucky looks down at the blond, the long eyelashes, the full lips. Steve was gorgeous, and _his._ The scar on Steve’s neck was tempting, he wanted to clamp down on it with his teeth, open the wound again, lick it clean...claim Steve as his, once again. 

It’s a delicate balancing act for Bucky’s control. 

It had been a long time since he had even felt anything carnal--not since Steve. That part of his brain wasn’t necessary for missions, and Hydra didn’t want him susceptible to the charms of Betas or Omegas. They had essentially programmed his instincts away.

The past few weeks, however, Bucky had been feeling all of those intense things again. He had felt protective, jealous, worried, _in love._

With the Omega, his Omega, in his arms, he felt like the world was a more forgiving place to be. 

Things made sense. The future was bright. Tomorrow didn’t seem so frightening. 

It was all false, of course. There were dangers lurking, just waiting for one of them to slip up, Hydra hiding in the shadows for the right opportunity. 

Bucky had to make them safe, before he could have _this_ all the time. 

Steve makes a soft humming sound in his sleep, and Bucky starts, afraid that he’d woken up, but he simply smiles in his sleep and nuzzles against Bucky’s leg again. 

Bucky can’t help the small smile that takes over his own lips. 

He brushes a finger down Steve’s cheekbone, and Steve, in his sleep, leans into the touch.

_His._

Everything in him was melting at the strong scent of Steve’s heat. He wanted nothing more than to roll Steve over and kiss and lick and bite _everywhere_ until Steve was panting for it, begging for it. Until he could make Steve come undone, and bury himself deep inside the Omega. 

They’d stay like that, tied together, for an hour or so. Steve would bite him, claim him again. They’d be linked together again, like they were always meant to be.

But it wasn’t safe. 

Bucky didn’t have the luxury of succumbing to his instincts like that. He had to stay in control. He wasn’t the Alpha he’d been before, the one who never had to worry if he was a danger to his Omega. Sure, before the war, he’d had to be careful with Steve, he remembers that. Steve was so small and sickly, Bucky would have to watch to not put too much weight on him, to make sure he drank water and wasn’t going to have an asthma attack. 

Now, this was different. Bucky didn’t know himself, he wasn’t _sure_ of himself like he’d been for all those times before. 

He’s woken up with guns in his hands before, knives, scared out of his mind and trapped in some distant memory. He couldn’t lose control with Steve like that. He’d hurt the Omega enough for many lifetimes to come. 

As the hours passed, Bucky didn’t sleep. He ran his hands through Steve’s hair, traced his features, rubbed his back. The scent of Steve’s heat grew thicker and thicker. 

He knew, that by the time the sun came up, Steve would be in the worst of it, desperate for his touch and pleading with wide eyes for him. 

Bucky was a strong man--stronger than most...but he wasn’t good at saying no to Steve Rogers, especially when it was something he wanted just as desperately. Perhaps even more. 

“Goddamit,” He whispers, closing his eyes. “We never could catch a break, could we, sweetheart?”

As if in answer, Steve sighs quietly in his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Моя любовь = my love


	8. only you who can calm the thunders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky looks at Steve’s profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the pout of his lips, and the long, long, eyelashes. “S’not so bad, I suppose,” Bucky teases, with a soft smile. “I like having you here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is ~smutty~. Enjoy <3

_The faint smell of your clothes_   
_Reminds me that I'm home_   
_Sink me into sleep_   
_Sink me into sleep_

_Lately I've been laying lonely_   
_Love_   
_Longing to be dreaming of_   
_Only you who can calm the thunders_   
_Only you who can steal the colors oh_

_**_

_We'll watch the sky explode_   
_From the beautiful below_   
_When we're both asleep_   
_When we're both asleep_   
_Keep the light away_   
_Let the night time play_   
_When we're both asleep_

\- "slumber", Lewis Watson 

* * *

When Steve wakes up, he is alone.

He knows it the moment that his eyes snap open, the apartment feels empty, and Bucky’s scent isn’t as strong as it was when he fell asleep. 

His skin is hot and sticky, and every part of him hurt with a hot kind of pain that he knew only Bucky’s presence would fix. 

“No, no,” Steve whispers quietly to himself, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “B-Bucky?” 

The fire was getting worse, and the pain of knowing that Bucky had walked away from him in his most desperate hour hurt worse. He had given Bucky free license to go last night, but when Bucky had refused, Steve let himself get used to the idea of having his Alpha around to coax him through heat, even if he wouldn’t touch him. 

He scanned the room for a note, but found nothing. Bucky had left without a trace. 

He pressed his face into the pillow and shuddered as the heat took over his body, the desperation becoming palpable. 

“Bucky,” He breathed, “Please. Come back.” 

***

“Thanks,” Bucky says gruffly to the cashier, as she puts his purchases into a brown paper bag. 

She’s blushing a little, but otherwise professional as she gives him the total. He pays quickly, and wastes no time scooping up the bag and heading out, already fighting that feeling of dread that he’d left Steve for too long. 

Steve had been dead asleep when Bucky had snuck away, and he was sure that he’d be able to head out to the nearest drugstore to get the necessities and return before Steve even stirred. He couldn’t help Steve through his heat without the basics like water and toys, and knowing that he didn’t have long before Steve’s heat got really bad, Bucky knew he had to be opportunistic about when he left.

He takes the stairs back up to the apartment three at a time, his heart racing more and more as he worries about Steve’s condition. 

He’d been gone too long, hadn’t he? Steve would wake up alone, and he’d be panicking, thinking that Bucky had left him for good. 

He throws open the apartment door and sets the paper bag down heavily on the counter, his heart in his throat. 

“B-Bucky?” Steve’s voice, thick with something that sounds like panic but was also tinged with relief. “Is that y-you?”

Bucky floods with guilt. He kicks off his boots and rushes towards the bedroom. “Stevie, hey. It’s me,” He reassures quickly, as he reaches the threshold. He stops dead when he sees Steve. 

Steve is on his stomach, his ass high in the air, with three fingers shoved into his hole.

Slick dripped down the back of his thighs. His entire body was trembling, and he was covered in a light layer of sweat. He looked like he was in agony. 

“Oh, Steve,” Bucky swallows. Everything in him _begged_ him to go take care of his Omega, kiss his way down Steve’s back, and fill him up until the pain stopped. “ _Christ,_ sweetheart.” 

“It hurts,” Steve half-sobbed, his toes curling and uncurling with what Bucky was pretty sure wasn’t pleasure. “It _hurts,”_ he repeats. “I-I don’t know what to d-do, I woke up and you were g- _gone_ and--” 

“I know,” Bucky rasps, looking away. His mouth was watering at the sight of Steve presenting himself like that. “I know, honey. I’m so sorry, I just,” He lost his train of thought and had to start again. “I ran out to get a few things I thought might help. Some toys, and lube and..” Looking at the slick dripping down Steve’s thick thighs, Bucky was pretty sure the toys would work fine without the lube. 

He tried to finish his sentence, but the words felt far away. His Omega was presenting himself, his Omega was in _heat._

“Don’t leave again,” Steve pleads, closing his eyes. A small tear slips out, and Bucky’s heart gives a sympathetic squeeze. He _hated_ when Steve cried, and he hated even more knowing that it was his fault. “ _Please_ don’t leave me again, Alpha.” 

“I won’t,” Bucky promises hollowly. He couldn’t let himself think too far ahead. Steve was only talking about the here and now, and Bucky had to stay there, too. Thinking about the future hurt his head, and it was already hard enough to think with Steve so close, naked and willing. “How bad is it?” 

“Bad,” Steve whimpers into the pillow. He arches his back, presenting even more, and Bucky has to stare at the ground to keep coherent. “It hurts somethin’ awful.”

“Oh, honey,” Bucky croons gently, the guilt making him shudder. “Try this?” He reaches into the bag and pulls out one of the toys, a vibrating dildo that had an inflatable knot. It was one of the nicer ones on the market, but Bucky knew it wouldn’t provide the same relief as a real Alpha. Still, though, it ought to help a bit. 

He puts the toy on the bed, within Steve’s reach, but he’s careful not to touch him. He knew that if their skin made contact while Steve was like this, he wouldn’t be able to fight his instincts.

Steve doesn’t speak, but he reaches for the toy with shaking hands, and without hesitating, plunges it deep within himself, his legs quivering a little as he does. 

“Christ,” Bucky looks away sharply, but the image of the dildo shoved deep into Steve’s eager little hole is one that he can’t easily be rid of. Steve lets out a soft moan. “Better?” Bucky is almost afraid to ask. Steve’s breathy voice _did_ things to him, and he was already fighting so hard to maintain control. 

“It’s--” Steve tries to adjust the angle of the toy, but he makes a frustrated little noise and tries again, apparently not getting what he desired. “It’s not _enough_. It hurts, it burns--” 

“You’re alright,” Bucky soothes, leaning heavily against the wall. He needed something solid against him so he could stop the feeling of weightlessness. Floating. “You’re doing so good.”

“No,” Steve pants quietly, more into his pillow than to Bucky. “It _hurts.”_

“I’m sorry, Stevie--” 

“Please?” Steve begs, turning his head to look over his shoulder at Bucky. He pulls the toy out slowly, and it glistens with his slick as he sets it down on the bed once again. Steve’s eyes are wet with tears, his lashes sticking together in dark clumps. “Please help me, Buck. You’re the only one who can make it feel better.” 

And God, Bucky never could say no to that face--those striking features, that heart he loved so much...Steve was his weakness, and he knew it. 

“I don’t want you to be in pain,” Bucky says desperately, wringing his hands together. “I _want_ to help you, but--”

“Please, Alpha?” Steve sniffles, his blue eyes as dark as the ocean as he stares at Bucky. His entire body seems to be trembling. “You can make it better. Please.”

“Okay,” Bucky agrees, before he even realizes what he was doing. “Fine, just--just stay still, okay? No sudden movements.” 

“Yes, Alpha,” Steve agrees dreamily. “Whatever you want. Anything.” 

Bucky takes a step forward, and then another, until his knees touch the bed. “Scoot forward, honey,” Bucky instructs, and Steve does so eagerly. 

Bucky takes a hesitant breath in, and can’t help the soft groan that escapes his lips. Steve’s scent, mingled with the scent of heat and Bucky’s own smell...it was heavenly. It made everything in him turn to mush. He felt _content,_ under all the burning instincts he was fighting so desperately. 

“That’s it,” Bucky purred gently. He used only his metal hand to trace Steve’s spine, knowing that skin-to-skin contact would be testing his control too much right now. Steve shudders and leans into the touch anyway, letting out a murmur of pleasure. “Okay, you ready?” 

“I can take it,” Steve promises, arching his back more to present to Bucky. Bucky wanted to sink his teeth into Steve’s perfect ass, to lick and bite all over. 

Instead, he picks up the toy, and presses it against Steve’s hole, careful not to apply too much force, though he knew Steve could take it and was wet enough to make it glide easily. 

Steve stiffens. “But that’s not--”

“I’m going to make it feel good,” Bucky promised thickly, his metal hand rubbing a soothing circle on Steve’s ass, up his spin, down the backs of his thighs, trying to get him to relax his tense muscles. “Do you trust me?” 

“Yes,” Steve sighed finally, “I trust you, Bucky.” 

The words meant more to Bucky than Steve probably realized. He circles the toy around Steve’s wetness once, twice, and then pushes it inside, slowly, making Steve feel every inch. 

“Oh,” Steve breathes softly. “ _Oh,”_

“That’s it, honey, just relax,” Bucky reassures him. “Gonna take care of you.” He pushes the toy in and out at an agonizingly slow pace, on his knees behind Steve and painfully aware how easy it would be to simply tug his own pants out of the way, to replace the toy with what they both really wanted, to fuck into Steve while Steve begged for more. But that would require a loss of control. It would mean Bucky would have to trust himself with the most precious thing in his world--his Omega. And it was a risk he wasn’t sure he could take. “Doin’ so good, doll. Just like that, is that helpin’? Does it still hurt?” 

“Buck,” Steve breathes softly, “C’mere,” He reaches his hand behind his own back to grab Bucky’s metal arm, and brings it up close to his face. Bucky couldn’t feel the sensation, of course, but upon hearing a soft sucking sound, he realized with a moan that Steve was sucking on his fingers. “Fuck,” He gasps softly. “Steve,” 

“Wanna feel you,” Steve explains in a hungry voice around a mouthful of Bucky’s fingers. 

“Christ, sweetheart,” Bucky cursed, his erection rubbing painfully against his jeans. He increased the speed of the thrusts of the toy into Steve, and when he adjusted his angle just so, Steve let out a loud moan around Bucky’s fingers. 

“I remember how to take care of you,” Bucky groaned, feeling more proud of himself than he should. The little sounds Steve was making felt like his reward for a job well done--he _was_ doing it right. He was making Steve feel good, he wasn’t hurting him. “You gotta get the right _angle,”_ Bucky pushes with a little extra force, hitting Steve’s prostate and making the blond shudder. “Feel good?” He confirms, as he continues the pace. 

“Yes,” Steve breathes, “But s’not you. I want to _feel_ you, Alpha, all over me.” 

“You’re doing so good,” Bucky argued. “Can make you come undone just like this.” 

“I want _you,”_ Steve repeats stubbornly, in a breathy voice. “It still--it still _hurts.”_

Bucky shudders again, and his mouth waters--he could take Steve so _easily._ “I wanna make you feel good, sugar,” He breathes, “Can you trust me?”

“I trust you,” Steve repeats with a moan, “With my life, Alpha.”

“Okay, Stevie, s’gonna be okay, gonna take care of you. I've got you.” Bucky leaned over Steve, fully clothed above Steve’s naked body, the toy still buried deep in Steve’s ass. 

He was testing his control, letting his legs, clad in jeans, press against the back of Steve’s thighs, letting his hips rest against Steve’s ass, the base of the toy pressed to Bucky’s own cock, as if it was just an extension of himself. 

Carefully, he reclaims his metal arm and wraps it around Steve’s waist, pressing his clothed chest to Steve’s back. Their skin didn’t meet anywhere without barrier, but it felt _amazing,_ just having Steve pressed against him like this. Bucky’s hair hung down, brushing against Steve’s shoulders. 

“Better?” He breathed low in Steve’s ear. “Is that better, honey? Feelin’ me like this?”

“Better,” Steve moans, his own arm covering Bucky’s around himself, as if to make sure Bucky didn’t move. Bucky wanted to press a kiss to Steve’s shoulder blade, so available and kissable, but he didn’t dare. With a motion that was not at all deliberate, he tugs the toy out of Steve, and can’t help but grind his hips against Steve’s ass, to give himself the friction he so desperately needed. His jeans quickly soaked with Steve’s slick, and he could feel the heat and wetness of it against his cock, making him nearly come undone. 

“B-Buck,” Steve pants, shoving his ass back against Bucky with all the force he could likely manage. “God, please--” 

Bucky was being selfish, he knew he was, but it felt so _good._ Steve’s eager body bending against his, rolling his hips, the friction against his dick--

“It hurts,” Steve begs, “It _burns,_ Alpha, _please,”_

Bucky slides the toy back in, and tightens his grip around Steve’s waist. “Sorry, honey, lost myself there. You feel so fuckin’ good against me.” 

“Imagine how g-good it would feel to be i- _inside_ me, then,” Steve pants, as Bucky keeps his body pressed against Steves, keeps plunging the toy in and out of his Omega. “It _burns,_ Alpha, I don’t want--I don’t want that stupid fuckin’ toy--” 

“Steve,” Bucky breathes, “Jesus--"

“You can,” Steve groans, and his voice is less pleading and more...well, angry. Bucky pulls the toy out of him slowly, and sets it down, pushing his own hips against Steve’s ass once again, because he can’t _help_ himself, dammit.

But Steve wasn’t having it. With a quick motion, Steve flips himself from under Bucky to lay on his back, looking up at the Alpha before Bucky even had time to react. 

“Steve--” Bucky begins to pull back, afraid that the skin-to-skin contact would send him over the edge, would make him lose control, but Steve just grabs Bucky’s face in both of his hands, rather tenderly, and presses their lips together. 

To say that it was like electricity wouldn’t be enough. Their skin, their _lips,_ pressed against each other...Bucky reacted with his whole body, kissing Steve back fiercely, licking into Steve’s open mouth to taste his Omega. 

“ _Yes,”_ Steve moans, arching up into Bucky's body eagerly, “C’mon, Buck, c’mon. Take me.” 

Bucky pulled back for a moment, judging himself. Not a single cell in his body could bear the thought of hurting Steve in this moment. He wanted only to kiss him, protect him, make him feel good. He stares down at Steve, breathing hard, and his face must expose all that he was feeling, because Steve just strokes his hair, his face possessing a much more patient look than Bucky could have ever thought he’d be able to manage in this state of pain and desire.

“I love you, Buck,” he pants. “Please. Please, please, I need you. Take care of me like I know y-you can.” 

Bucky kissed him back with a promise behind the movement, and in a few quick movements, was rid of his shirt and pants, and then _skin._ All of them, pressed to the other, the thrill of it running up Bucky’s spine. 

Steve arches hard into him and whimpers. “God, yes. Please, Buck,” Steve pleads. “Please, please?” 

And Christ, Bucky wanted him--needed him, even, perhaps just as bad as Steve needed his Alpha. 

“Don’t gotta beg,” Bucky reassures him quietly, kissing his way along Steve’s jaw, down his neck. He lines himself up with Steve’s entrance, and bites at Steve’s earlobe. “You gotta tell me if I hurt you. You can’t let me hurt you.” 

“You won’t,” Steve says confidently. “You _w-won’t.”_

At that moment, it was easy to agree. He pushes inside of his Omega with a slow, even pressure, until he could feel the wet heat of Steve all around him. 

“ _Bucky,”_ Steve moans, “Yes, Alpha. _Yes.”_

“My perfect little Stevie,” Bucky recalls, and the words don’t feel like his, but he knows implicitly that they are, that they belonged to him once, when Steve was his without question and the days were easier and full of laughter. “My gorgeous little Omega--”

“Move,” Steve chokes out, “I need to feel you. Knot me, Buck, please. It feels so _good,”_

Bucky can’t say no to that pleading voice, couldn’t say no to Steve in any context, really, and this moment was proof of that. He rolls his hips into Steve, and Steve’s fingernails scratch down his back, his legs wrapping tightly around Bucky’s hips to keep him there.

“Just like that,” Steve rasps, burying his face in Bucky’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. “M’gonna--”

“Yeah,” Bucky encourages, increasing the speed and power of his thrusts, beginning to feel the somewhat alien feeling, the pressure at the shaft of his cock that let him know his knot was beginning to swell. “I remember how you like it, don’t I, Stevie?” 

“Yes,” Steve groans, “You remember. You take care of me _so_ good, Buck,” 

The words were like a drug to Bucky, the validation he needed so desperately. He wasn’t non-human, he wasn’t a monster, in this moment. 

He was an Alpha, who loved his Omega and knew how to make the pain stop. He was helping. _Helping,_ not hurting. 

He wraps his flesh hand around Steve’s cock, red and swollen between them, and barely has time for a few tugs before Steve is arching his back, his cum spurting between them as he makes hungry little sounds. 

“Just like that,” Bucky encourages, fucking him through it with slow, deep thrusts. “So fuckin’ perfect, ain’t you, honey?” 

“ _You_ are," Steve’s fingers clutch at Bucky’s shoulders desperately. “Knot me,” He pleads, “Don’t leave. Knot me, Alpha.” 

Bucky couldn’t leave Steve like this, he knew, both because it would break their hearts, and because he likely physically could not find it within himself to walk away. With a few more rolls of his hips, his knot swells fully, and he plugs Steve up tight, sealing in the streams of cum deep in Steve’s ass. 

“C’mere,” Bucky whispers, keeping them connected but maneuvering onto his side, a force of habit from when Steve was small. He was never able to put his full weight on Steve, in fear of crushing him, and the practice apparently stuck. He tugged Steve onto his chest, letting the blond splay out on top of him, just like they used to do while they waited for Bucky’s knot to go down. “Better?” 

Steve didn’t fit there quite like he used to, when he was just a little slip of a thing, and could curl up perfectly on top of Bucky and still be enveloped by his Alpha, but Steve still had a way of making himself small. Bucky didn’t know how he did it, but he curled up in Bucky’s arms like it was the only place in the world he belonged, tucking his face into Bucky’s neck and nuzzling close. 

“Mmm,” Steve yawned. He pressed his nose into Bucky’s neck and let out a content little sigh, snuggling closer. “So much better, Buck. Feels like I can breathe again.” He inhales deeply, and Bucky does the same. 

The air smelled like home, tinged with both of their scents and the deep, musky smell of his Omega’s content. 

“M’glad,” Bucky hums, tracing his finger up and down Steve’s spine. He felt more at peace than he could ever remember being since Hydra. He and Steve, connected and intertwined, his muscles lose, Steve’s hair tickling his chin. “You should try to get some sleep, honey. While you can. When you wake up, you’re gonna be hurtin’ again.” 

“You’ll be here?” Steve asked hopefully, his voice quiet, like he was afraid to hear the reply. 

“I’ll be here,” Bucky confirmed, pressing a kiss to Steve’s hair. “I’ll take care of you.” 

“You did it,” Steve murmured into Bucky’s neck, as he begins to drift away to sleep. “You made me feel better, Buck. You were there when I needed you, and you--you didn’t hurt me.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky wraps his arms around his Omega and squeezes Steve even closer. “I didn’t hurt you,” He agrees, “I hope I never do again.” 

Steve falls asleep to Bucky’s hand tracing invisible patterns on his bare back, still buried deep inside him, feeling like nothing in the world could disrupt this feeling of safety. 

***

Bucky doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but with Steve in his arms, and that deep satisfaction low in his belly, it was inevitable. He sleeps for a few hours, and meets Steve there, under a bright orange sunset. 

_“S’nice,” Steve remarks, sitting with his back to Bucky, looking out at the water. The dock was empty, save for them, and some soft Ella Fitzgerald crooned in the background. “Isn’t it?”_

_“The view?” Bucky confirms, taking a seat beside his Omega._

_“This,” Steve corrects, placing his hand over Bucky’s. “Never having to be alone.”_

_Bucky looks at Steve’s profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the pout of his lips, and the long, long, eyelashes. “S’not so bad, I suppose,” Bucky teases, with a soft smile. “I like having you here.” Bucky's head was a much more pleasant place to be when Steve was there, too._

_He expects a smile from Steve in return, but when the blond faces him, he’s got a grave look on his face, and his lips are taut. “You’re going to leave, aren’t you?”_

_Bucky feels his own face harden in response. “I won’t leave you in the middle of your heat,” He promises._

_“That ain't what I meant,” Steve sighs, defeated. He turns back to the sunset and his fingers squeeze Bucky’s hand. “I don’t want to be alone again.”_

_“Neither do I,” Bucky rasps, suddenly heartbroken by the idea of going on the run again, of having to face the nightmare of Hydra. Leaving Steve, even_ thinking _about it, hurt to his very core._

_Steve closes his eyes and tilts his face up to the sun. “We’ll always have this,”_

_“Yeah, doll,” Bucky agrees, wrapping an easy arm around Steve’s shoulders and tugging him closer because he could, because he felt like if he wasn’t touching Steve he might drift somewhere dark and lonely. “We’ll always have our dreams.”_

In that moment, the world felt like a place that would make room for their love, would let them make a home and a life for themselves.

Bucky could only hope that their hearts were strong enough to endure whatever pain the sunrise brought with it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments make me wanna keep writing so please, please never stop <3 i love you all and I hope you guys are taking care of yourselves. These are scary times for lots of different reasons. if you ever need anything or want to chat my tumblr is wincestplease  
> Sending hugs and good vibes to you all <3 See you next chappie!


	9. they would take me from your hand & hold me like a gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE FORGIVE ME I know this update took way longer than it should have...life kind of got in the way :( things are insane right now but I promise to try to keep up with weekly updates once again! 
> 
> thank you to everyone who has stuck with this fic so far <3 I know following a WIP isn't easy, but SO appreciated <3 your support makes me want to continue to write! 
> 
> See the end of chapter notes for translations & chapter warnings

Let me sleep  
I am tired of my grief  
And I would like you  
To love me, to love me, to love me  
  
This is the night when these woods sigh  
  
Come with me

There are people who cannot speak  
Without smiling  
  
They would take me from your hand  
Or they would try, they would try  
This is the murmur of the land  
This is the sound of love's marching band  
And how they hold you like a gun  
And how I sing you like a song  
I heard when I was young  
And buried for a night like this

\- _The Wisp Sings,_ Winter Aid 

* * *

Steve’s body knows he’s alone before his eyes open, before his hand searches along the mattress, looking for a body that isn’t there. 

He feels it right down to his toes, that Bucky is gone.

It’s not the kind of gone that he felt when Bucky went to the store. It was a different, more harrowing feeling. When he opened his eyes, the feeling of dread was already all-encompassing. Nothing about Bucky’s absence felt temporary. 

Bucky’s things were gone, every trace of him out of the apartment. His weapons were gathered up and vanished from the chair in the corner of the bedroom, as were his boots, his jacket, his guns. 

Only the indent in the pillow there beside him from where Bucky’s head had lain was the only indication that Steve hadn’t simply made up the whole encounter in his heart-delirious brain. 

Steve knew it was futile, but he called out anyway: “B-Buck? You there?” He sits up out of bed, and wanders into the kitchen, peering around every corner, half hoping that Bucky would peek out and surprise him, would make fun of Steve for thinking he’d leave when he _promised_ he wouldn’t. 

Of course, no answer comes. “No,” Steve breathes, defeated. “Shit, Buck, C’mon!” 

The prickle of heat starts across his skin again and Steve shudders, wrapping his arms around himself and sliding to sit down on the cold tile floor of the kitchen, propped up against a cabinet. “God _damit,_ Bucky,” He sighs softly, too tired to cry, too hollow. “Why?” 

The silence in the apartment is all-encompassing. Steve feels the pain of abandonment bloom across his chest, rattle his bones, and make a home in the pit of his stomach. 

Every cell in his body craved the touch and comfort of the very person who had said he would stay, who had promised to get Steve through this. The very same person who had left him.

“Asshole,” Steve chokes out, but there is no venom behind it. “ _Why?”_

**

“Welcome, _Soldat,”_ a sharp voice. Cold floor, cold air. Traffic buzzing by. High ceilings--unfamiliar.

_Where was he?_

“You’re in New York. Hydra safe house.” 

_Oh. But--his head hurt? Why does his head hurt? And where was--_ where _is--?_

“непринужденно солдат.” 

_Huh? No, that’s. That’s not right. Shouldn’t be here. Don’t. Don’t want to be here. Where is St--_

“Непринужденно! Now!” 

_He needs to get...back. Back where? Where was he_ before? 

His head hurts. His ears are ringing.

Food. He had been ordering _food_ to the apartment. _His_ apartment. The blond, his... _his._ Belonged to him. Breakfast, from--from….

And then. _Then._ They had been at the door when he had gone to retrieve what he thought was his delivery. It was so--so _unexpected._ They had whispered the words like a spell in his ear. He gathered up his things calmly and left, following them like an obedient dog away from the Safe Place that was the apartment. 

Back to Them. 

_No._ He couldn’t be here, with them. He doesn’t _do_ that anymore. He was _free,_ was gonna shut them down once and for all, make them pay. Protect what was _his_ so they would never be able to hurt his golden boy. 

“Get away from me,” he groans, getting to his feet unsteadily. “You _bastards,_ I want to go home!” 

“You are home, _soldat._ Сядь и заткнись.” 

He didn’t want to. He needed to _go._ His--his Omega. The blond. “S-Steve,” he whispers. “Steve needs me.” Steve...his heat. Steve was going to wake up alone, was going to see no signs of struggle--he was going to think that Bucky had walked out on him in his most desperate hour. 

And...hadn’t he? 

He was a monster. He staggers against the wall for support and falls down again, his legs no longer obeying him. 

“Вы готовы подчиниться?”

No. _No, he didn’t want to do that._ He shakes his head quickly, his hair falling in his face. He had to remember Steve. Whatever else they made him forget, he _couldn’t_ forget that. He wouldn’t let himself. As long as he knew Steve, he could stay human. Stay _good._

“Тоска,” 

_Remember Steve,_ he repeats, like a mantra, a dying man reciting the Lord’s Prayer desperately, without pause for breath, hoping his saviour would descend and alleviate the suffering. _Remember him, remember his kindness, his love._

“Please,” He tries again. “I’ll come with you, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t--”

“Ржавый,” 

“ _Please,”_ his head is pounding. He claps his hands over his ears, but the voice begins shouting so loud he can’t help but listen, cemented in place, heart thrumming. 

_Remember, remember him, remember--_

“Семнадцать!” 

The mind was becoming blank, like an ice cube beginning to melt, the water evaporating into the air. 

_Remember, remember...remember what?_

\--the blond, with the kindness, but...but what was his _name?_

The apartment slipped away into darkness, becoming an unrecognizable place. What was he trying so desperately to recall, just seconds ago? 

He remembers shooting, killing, the thrum of adrenaline in his veins when he completed a mission. He remembers Pain, the Chair, the Cold. 

“Рассвет….печь….девять!” 

He remembers, briefly, his Becca--the stubborn upturn of her nose, crying in his arms when he got his notice to ship out, his mother’s eyes copied exactly into his own face….and then they are gone. 

He tries to pull on the string that would tug the memory closer, so he could protect it...but it unravels completely and falls to bits around him. 

_Him,_ the one that belonged to him. A voice telling him he was beautiful, that he was loved. 

Hydra. Pierce. The goal, the missions. He can be _useful._ He can be a soldier, he can complete his missions and be Rewarded. 

“Добрый! возвращение домой! Один!” 

The one he was trying to remember--seems far away, impossible to reach. It fades away like a setting sun behind the ocean. 

He is alone with the guns and knives and weapons. He remembers 106 ways to kill someone using only his hands. 

He does not remember his age. He is undying. He is death. 

“….грузовой автомобиль.”

 _Yes._ This is right. The Soldier gets to the feet with all the grace and lithe of a well-oiled machine, and raises the head. 

“Soldat?” The voice prompts expectantly. 

The Soldier knows what the voice is looking for. He is ready. Ready to complete the mission. He opens the mouth, and very softly replies: “готов подчиниться.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Bucky is recaptured by Hydra, mention of memory loss and brief mention of canon-typical violence.
> 
> Translations: (please keep in mind these were all done very clumsily with google translate, so forgive me of any mistakes!)  
> непринужденно солдат = At ease Soldier  
> непринужденно = at ease  
> Сядь и заткнись = sit down and shut up  
> Вы готовы подчиниться = are you ready to comply?  
> Тоска = Longing  
> Ржавый= Rusted  
> Семнадцать = Seventeen  
> Рассвет….печь….девять = Daybreak, furnace, nine  
> Добрый! возвращение домой! Один! = benign, homecoming, one  
> грузовой автомобиль = freight car  
> готов подчиниться = ready to comply.


	10. do you hurt for me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve makes a plan to find Bucky. The Soldier spies on Rogers, and makes a deal with Hydra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi loves! Thank you sooo much for your patience, as always!! Here is a bit of a longer chapter <3 thank you for reading/commenting, you truly make my day every single time!! 
> 
> ***Please see the end of chapter notes for warnings

_Oh, no_  
_Tonight I find it hard to swallow_  
_The bed is made and I feel hollow_  
_My friends suggest that I should take it slow_  
_I took it slow_

_And I sweat it out, I'm not okay_  
_And I'm shaking on the floor_  
_I lie awake and I count the days_  
_And I wait beside the door_

_For love_  
_I only want you next to me_  
_Sweet love_  
_How long before you hurt for me, hurt for me?_  
_Do you hurt for me?_

_\- "_ Hurt for me", SYML 

* * *

When Natasha opens the apartment door, she’s already braced herself for the worst. 

She had received a short text from Steve less than fifteen minutes ago with just three haunting words: _Please come over._

She had dropped everything and rushed across the city, armed with two guns and a knife, and had no idea what to expect. She didn’t know what she was walking into; she knew only that Steve had been avoiding her for a while. 

She had her suspicions about why--but that didn’t matter now. She just had to figure out if Steve was okay. 

“Steve?” Natasha calls as she enters, one hand already reaching around the back waistband of her pants in order to pull out her gun as she enters the apartment. It was eerily silent, no signs of fighting. The door had been unlocked for her, but the hinges were secure, the windows in the living room unbroken, no obvious signs of forced entry. She tries again. “Steve? It’s me. Where are you?” 

She stops when she hears a quiet reply, “In here.” 

Steve’s voice is coming from the kitchen, and Natasha turns the corner to find him, as large as he was, squat up small on the floor, his back leaning against the island cupboards. His legs were tucked up small into his chest, and he was naked, save for black boxer briefs. He was shivering uncontrollably, and he smelled-- _oh._ He smelled….mated. 

In heat, but claimed. 

Natasha tried to control the shock on her face, but the pieces were falling into place. She slaps a hand over her face, but the scent really wasn’t that overpowering. Steve was like family to her, and he already reeked of Barnes. It wasn’t tempting her Alpha side to claim him, but rather, to comfort him, since he was so clearly in distress. 

“Steve?” Natasha drops to her knees, getting on his level, and places a cool hand on his shoulder. He was burning up--Steve normally ran hot, sure, but this was a different level of heat, an inhuman kind of temperature. “I came as fast as I could. What’s going on? Why do you smell--”

Steve jumps away from her touch. “Please--” he gasps, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. His eyes are wet and wide, horrified. “God, Nat. I’m sorry. Please don’t touch me. I-I can’t stand it.” 

“Okay,” Natasha retracts her and runs it back through her hair, her mind racing. “Steve, I need you to talk to me.” She scents the air again, and frowns, the pieces clicking. “Help me understand. Was he…?” 

“Yes,” Steve breathes, his voice cracking a little. He closes his eyes and a single tear slips out, running down his cheek and dripping from his jaw. “He was here. He was _here,_ Nat. I was going through heat--I, I _am_ going through heat--” 

“Oh, Steve,” Natasha sympathizes quietly, while at the same time an angry fire burned in her heart against James Buchanan Barnes, who had hurt Steve many times during his brief period in New York. She’d like to slap him upside the head, or put a bullet or two in his stomach. Not to hit anything vital, of course, since he’s so important to Steve, but maybe to teach him a lesson about manners. He certainly needed it. “He _left_ you? In the middle of your heat?” 

“I don’t know, I--I mean, he wouldn’t have done that,” Steve shakes his head helplessly. “He promised he was going to stay. He said he wouldn’t leave me during my heat--he, he _remembered_ me, Nat. he was himself again. He knew me, and he was so gentle--” Steve cuts off, burying his head in his hands. He doesn’t make a sound, but his shoulders tremble slightly. 

Natasha purses her lips sadly. “Steve, he’s still not in the right headspace to be making promises like that. He’s a runner. He had to be, to survive, and he probably freaked out when he realized how much danger the two of you were in--”

“He was himself,” Steve argues stubbornly, his hands balling up in angry, white-knuckled fists. “Everything about him was _Bucky,_ right down to the way he--” Steve cuts off, his gaze lost somewhere far away, in a memory, before he blinks and is brought back to the present. “It was him, Nat. I just. I just can’t believe he would l-leave me like this, still in heat. He _promised_ to at least stay ‘till that was over with.” 

“How can I help?” Natasha asked gently. She can see that Steve is in a delicate place--still going through heat, clearly distressed about where Bucky had gone, and seconds away from a breakdown. She needed to choose her words carefully.

“I need,” Steve takes a deep, long breath, and then continues. “I need clothes, please. And there is a sweatshirt--it’s on the nightstand. Buck gave it to me, and it has his scent, and I need it--” he clenches his jaw, and then looks back at her. “I’m going to be okay.” 

Natasha didn’t know who he was trying to convince, himself or her, but she nods along. “Yes,” She agrees, “You are.” She needed to believe that they could do this, because they didn’t have a choice. She had seen Steve, a strong man, broken too many times over by the likes of Bucky Barnes. She refused to let it happen again. She refused to leave Steve like this. She _would_ find the Soldier. It was up to her now, it had been since the moment Steve decided to call her in his moment of desperation. She wouldn’t let him down.

“We should check CCTV footage, maybe they got something that can help explain where he went. Then we can head back to the Tower and talk to the other guys, maybe get a group together--” 

“Steve,” Natasha cuts him off, her mouth open in shock. “You can’t come. You need to stay here.” 

Steve sniffles, pausing as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. When the realization dawns on his features, his eyes narrow into something accusatory.“Excuse me?” 

“You’re still in _heat,_ are you crazy? You shouldn’t even be able to function right now--”

“No way in hell am I staying here. I need him,” Steve’s eyes are wild, then, like an animal’s. “I _need_ to know where he is, Nat. I have a bad feeling I just can’t shake. I just know something bad happened. That’s the only explanation. I’m not sitting this one out, it’s too important.” 

“Even if that’s true,” Natasha wasn’t convinced that it was. They hadn’t seen any activity or evidence that Hydra was moving in on the soldier once again, and given Bucky’s history...running away didn’t sound totally unlike him. “How do you expect to be out and about around other Alphas--”

“I don’t want them,” Steve cuts her off, something accusatory in his tone. “I don’t want any one else but him. When you touched me, it--it felt so _wrong_ . No offence,” he adds quickly, his gaze softening. “I’m in pain, and I’m _burning,_ and yes. It’s going to be difficult. But the worst of my heat was what Bucky already helped me through, and although I’m uncomfortable, I can’t wait another two or three days until this thing is over to start looking.” He shakes his head. “Any Alpha who tries to get too close will be sorry. I can defend myself, and honestly, and outlet for this anger would be nice.” 

“I could start without you,” Natasha suggested softly, still not sure about Steve joining her. “Sam, and I. You can stay here, ride out the rest of your heat, and we’ll update you as we come across anything.” 

“I’m not staying behind,” Steve gets to his feet. There was a ring of authority in his tone that screamed “Captain America”, not “desperate Omega in heat”. And Natasha knew that she had lost. “This is more my fight than anyone else’s.” 

“Fine,” Natasha agrees, and gracefully stands up, putting her hands on her hips and looking Steve up and down. “Don’t shower,” She sighs, hopping up onto the counter to wait for him while he dresses. “You smell like him right now and that’s going to help other Alphas focus around you.” 

“Okay,” Steve nods carefully, heading for the bedroom with slow, dejected movements. He probably wouldn’t have been too eager to wash away James’ smell even if she had pleaded with him to do it. “I’ll be out soon.” 

Natasha gets to work, digging through the kitchen to find bread and peanut butter. There was a banana in the fruit basket, so she tops the peanut butter toast with slices of it, and drizzles the whole thing with honey; a favourite of Steve’s when he was feeling down. She felt quite proud of herself when the concoction was finished. 

When he emerges, he’s wearing a Captain America sweatshirt and dark wash jeans, looking not a bit aware of the irony. She decides not to comment on it. 

“Eat,” She commands softly, pushing the plate towards him. 

His nose wrinkles, and Natasha doesn’t take offence. She can’t imagine what kind of state Steve was in right now, abandoned by his mate halfway through his heat. Eating probably wasn’t high on his priority list.

“You need your strength,” She adds, pushing the plate a little closer. “C’mon. Bet you’re hungrier than you think you are. Try a few bites.” 

Steve sits down heavily and succumbs, munching away at the toast with a stoic look on his face. She’s relieved when he takes a few more bites after the first, looking exhausted and resigned to his fate.

Natasha watches him with an even gaze, though her heart is breaking for him. 

“Steve, don’t look so sad,” She pleads softly, her voice just barely audible. Steve looks up, startled by her plea, or maybe he heard something in her voice that surprised him. Vulnerability, perhaps. She wasn’t fond of that, but now she couldn’t help it. “We’ll find him. We’ll help him--and bring him home. I won’t let you down.” 

Steve shudders visibly. “Yes,” he agrees gravely. “We will. We will, because I don’t know what we’ll do if we can’t.” 

**

“So you’ve come back to us, that easily?”

The Soldier is frozen, all of his muscles locked in place. He can’t think, he can scarcely remember how to breathe. He does not want to _be_ where he is. He is Afraid. 

Brock Rumlow has a smug grin on his face, and a gun in his hand, holding it easily, his thumb dancing around the trigger.

His handler said the words, the words that made him _forget._ The Soldier could do nothing, be nothing. He simply stood and waited.

Where had he been, before this? From which mission did he come? 

It was unlike his handlers to retrieve him, he was used to meeting them back at the base when the mission was done. 

Unless he messed up. Unless he _failed._

The heart raced at that thought. Failure was _bad._ He did not want the Chair, or the Cold.

“It didn’t take much, did it, boys?” Rumlow turns to his fellow soldiers, all clad in full kevlar. The Soldier was not prepared for confrontation. 

The Soldier was wearing track pants and a sweatshirt. He was dressed like a civilian, and his head hurt. He was going to be Punished for Disobeying, and he had no armour to protect him against the coming blows. “You _needed_ us, didn’t you, Soldier?” 

The Soldier does not make eye contact. He keeps his eyes down, glaring only at the hard concrete floor. He nods once--saying “no” would bring on Punishment. He did not want to be Punished.

“Mission--failed?” the Soldier rasps, because he simply _must_ know. He must prepare himself for what is to come: if it is the chair, he has to force himself not to scream. They do not like it when he screams. 

Rumlow looks at him thoughtfully, pausing before he replies; “Yes, Soldier. Mission failed.” 

_Shame._ The Soldier boys his head, embarrassed. He should have done better. 

“It’s not your fault, really,” Rumlow sighs, pacing in slow, languid lines in front of the Soldier. The Soldier was not comforted by this ease of motion; even if he forgot where he was, he remembered Rumlow. He remembered the white-hot anger that could burst from him at any moment. “You fell for the act of that stupid Captain--”

The head explodes with pain, but he forces the body not to flinch. 

_Stevie._ The Soldier gasps quietly, a barely audible sound. _Blond hair, blue eyes, a shy smile. Hands, combing through the hair. A voice, warm and soft, like brown sugar, coaxing him home--No, Steve, don’t get into another fight, you stubborn, stupid little shit--_

“--but we got you back.” Rumlow sighed. “We’ll always bring you home, Soldier. No matter what.” The tone was meant to be comforting, the Soldier supposes, but it feels like a threat, and it leaves something icy behind in his chest. When the Soldier thinks of _home,_ he doesn’t think of Rumlow. Home is--it’s--

_\--the blond man, who had gentle hands and a warm voice, who never hurt the Soldier or put him in the Chair. He tosses in his sleep and he cries out for his Alpha. Mine, mine, mine--_

Who was he? Who was that man? Why did he remember the kindness? 

It must be a dream. It must have been a fantasy. The Soldier did not know how to be gentle, and no one would have been stupid enough to seek comfort in his embrace. 

“There is still time, Soldier. You can make things right,” Rumlow encourages. His eyes glimmer with the hint of a new challenge. The Soldier knew that look. 

“New mission?” The Soldier clenches his jaw. He could not mess up this time--one mission failure was already unforgivable. 

“Repeat mission. Failure is not an option this time, Soldier. We want the Captain _alive.”_

The Soldier remembers. The Captain, the enemy, was ruining Hydra’s plans. He was to be captured, re-programmed, and used to complete Hydra’s mission. He was strong and fast, and if he could be broken, he could be useful. Like the Soldier. 

“Understand?” Rumlow prompts, when the Soldier does not reply. 

_“You take such good care of me, Buck. You make me feel safe.”_

No--wrong. He doesn’t know that voice, doesn’t know the owner of it. The head hurts. The mind is confused. The Soldier is not human. The Soldier does not know love or comfort, does not know how to be gentle. He is a weapon. 

He has a job to do.

“Fuckin’ stupid thing,” Rumlow spits at the Soldiers feet, grabbing his chin roughly. “Anybody home in there? Answer me.” 

The Soldier blinks the eyes. The head hearts more. 

Rumlow’s fingernails pinch into the skin, drawing blood. The Soldier hardly feels it. “I asked you a fucking question, you useless piece of shit. _Answer me_.” 

The Soldier can hear the anger in Rumlow’s voice. He does not want to anger him any further. “Mission: capture Captain America,” The Soldier does not fight Rumlow’s grip, but he doesn’t meet his eyes, either. He knows better than to try that. “Mission success imperative.” 

“Or else,” Rumlow’s lip curls, “You’ll never see anything outside of that cryo chamber again, do you hear me?” 

“Yes, sir.” The Soldier feels the ice crawl down his spine. He doesn’t want to be cold again. 

“Good,” Rumlow purrs, releasing his grip on the Soldier. “And--if you’re good, if you succeed, you will be able to keep the Captain.” 

_Keep him._ Something in the Soldier preened at that thought. He frowned a little, though, not fully understanding that promise. 

“He can be yours,” Rumlow laughs dryly. “Your toy. He is an Omega, after all.” 

_His?_ The Soldier’s brow smoothed. _Yes._ He would make Rogers _his._ That fit. The head did not hurt when he focused on that. 

“Yes,” the Soldier replies, to show he understands. 

Rumlow looked amused. “I thought you might like that. But don’t be tricked by him again, Soldier. _You_ are the Alpha. You are the Asset. You are in control. Not Rogers.” 

“Yes,” The Soldier says again. He was an Alpha. Rogers was _his._

“Good. Then go, Soldier. You’ve got two days. And remember--we’re tracking you,” Rumlow grinned sharply, and released his grip on the face. “Take any longer, and we’re coming after you. Time to prove your worth, _soldat._ Can you be useful to us, or not?” 

“I can,” The Soldier says, something desperate in the voice. To be useless was to be Cold. To be useless was to be thrown away, Reprogrammed--he _did not_ want to be useless. “I _can--”_

“Shut up,” Rumlow snaps bitterly, already turning away from him, uninterested or impatient, the Soldier didn’t know which. “Just come back with him. And, Soldier?”

The Soldier raises the head, waiting. 

“If, by chance, getting him alive becomes...impossible…” Rumlow shrugs, a curious look on his face. “Don’t let him get away. A dead Captain America is better than a free one.” 

“He’ll be mine,” The Soldier says convincingly. “I will bring him back alive.” 

“See to it that you do,” Rumlow growls. “Unless you want to be frozen in that chamber for another hundred years.”

The Soldier nods once, to show he understands. He backs away slowly, not turning his back to his handler and the room full of armed men until he’s at the threshold of the door. 

He steps out onto the street with only one thing on his mind: to capture Steven Grant Rogers. 

**

“Steve,” Sam barked, getting to his feet immediately as he and Nat entered the tower. “What--” 

“I’ll fill you in,” Natasha was wearing a mask over her mouth and nose and her eyes were hard. Sam gave her a curious look, but she shook her head. 

Beside her, Steve looked like a zombie. He had deep bags under his eyes, his cheeks were hollow and pale, and he hugged his arms around himself like if he let go, he would fall to pieces.

Sam knew that Natasha’s protective stance, her mask, and the heat-smell of Steve could mean only one thing; Bucky had been around, had likely helped Steve through his heat, or had tried to, and then had taken off or been taken. 

Sam takes a step towards Steve, and Natasha holds up a hand. “Wait, he’s--” 

“I’m a beta,” Sam reminds impatiently. “The heat smell doesn’t bother me.” 

“Right,” She lets out a long breath and her posture relaxes. She steps aside to give Sam access to Steve. 

“Hey, man. You don’t look so good,” Sam doesn’t touch Steve--he knows that wouldn’t do anything but harm. “What happened?” 

Steve looks up at him, startled and grateful. “We need to find Bucky,” He breathes desperately. “He’s gone, Sam--and he’s in trouble. I just know it.” 

“Okay,” Sam takes a deep breath. It wasn’t the first time Steve had demanded that they find Bucky. “Catch me up. Sparknotes version.” 

Nat fills him in with a quick rush of words--Barnes making contact, Steve skipping out on his suppressants in order to get Barnes to make contact again...triggering his heat, Barnes helping him through it, then disappearing without a trace after promising not to do that very thing. 

The whole time Natasha talked, Steve looked far away, a faint look of pain on his face. Sam supposed that despite still being in the middle of his heat and dealing with the abandonment of his mate, Steve was holding it together pretty well. 

He knew, though, that Steve was depending on them. 

“So assuming that Hydra has Barnes,” Sam says, once he’s fully filled-in, “We need to find a way to track him down.” 

“He’s not going to be cooperative,” Steve wrings his hands together. “If they got him to leave without me so much as waking up, there couldn’t have been a struggle. And if there wasn’t a struggle, then they had some kind of hold on him.” 

“Blackmail?” Sam wondered out loud, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe they had a sniper on you, or something like that?” 

Steve shakes his head. “Doubtful. If they actively threatened me during my heat...I think Bucky would have fought back, not gone silently; he was an Alpha helping his Omega through heat, his instincts would have taken over. I think they must have used the trigger phrases on him. He mentioned that at the drop of a few choice words, he’d be completely under their spell again.” 

Sam blows out a long breath. He knew that there was a _slight_ possibility Barnes had freaked out about coming so close to Steve, or had sensed Hydra was closing in, and had left willingly, but the determination in Steve’s eyes, the fiercely loyal set to his brow, made Sam second guess doubting Barnes. If Steve thought he had been taken, then Sam was all in on that theory. 

“If you say they have him, then they have him,” He resolutely decides to trust Steve with his whole heart. He had done it before, and it hadn’t lead him astray. “But if he’s not going to be cooperative, and he doesn’t remember you...how do we know we aren’t just going to get a repeat of the bridge incident? Or the helicarrier?” Both incidents being Barnes beating the living shit out of Steve who refused to raise a hand against his mate to defend himself. 

“We can’t let that happen again,” Natasha says softly. Her and Sam share a worried glance. They both remembered the terror clutching at their chests as they prayed silently for Steve to defend himself, while he dropped his shield and submitted. He’d have let Barnes kill him that day. He almost had--he might not be standing there before him if not for Bucky’s spontaneous change of heart, when he’d dragged him from the water. 

“We need a way to force him to remember--or at least to listen, in the hopes that that will trigger a memory,” Sam says. “Before he gets violent.” 

“My dreams,” Steve cries, life suddenly filling his features once again--like hope. “He--he said..” 

“What?” Natasha’s eyes slid over to him, not following, but Sam nodded, understanding Steve’s thinking. 

“Mates can dreamshare, if their bond is strong enough.” Sam explains quietly, not taking his eyes off Steve. “It’s rare, but..” 

“We can,” Steve almost smiles. “We can--and we _have._ Recently--and we used to do it almost every night before... And he said that no matter what happened, we’d always have our dreams.”

Sam is already shaking his head, seeing too many chances for failure with that particular plan. “If Hydra has him, we have no way of knowing when or even if he’ll fall asleep. You have to be asleep at the same time for dream sharing to work. _And_ he has to be thinking about you, which means he has to remember you.” Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, his mind running with ideas. How could they possibly make it work? Right now, it was their only lead. “It’s a long shot.” 

Natasha frowns, her hands on her hips. “If he remembered you, he’d be leaving us signs to follow, Steve. He’d be trying to get back to you, not this...radio silence.” 

Steve runs a hand back through his hair, an irritated, quick movement. “Well--he’s still human--he has to fall asleep eventually,” he said curtly. “We’ll just wait.”

“You said you hadn’t dreamshared with him the whole time he was with Hydra though, right?” Natasha sighed, resigned. “Because he didn’t remember you enough to reach out. Why is this time going to be any different?” 

“He didn’t fall asleep thinking about me,” Steve nodded, his voice breaking a little, “but what if I can _make sure_ he’s thinking about me when he’s falling asleep? It doesn’t have to be a memory, or anything about our relationship, it doesn’t have to be anything significant or even positive. It just has to be _me.”_

“How would that even work?” Sam mutters, working through scenarios in his head. Each one fell apart--how could they make sure the two fell asleep at the same time, and how could they force Barnes to think of Steve before he drifted off if he didn’t know who Steve was? They didn’t even know where the Soldier was. If Steve had woken up to him gone, then he could have slipped out in the middle of the night, and with that much time between then and now, Barnes could be halfway across the world. 

“A coma,” Natasha exclaims, her eyes suddenly wide and excited, her voice animated. “Sleeping, it’s. It’s like a coma, right?” 

“Studies show that people do dream in comas,” Sam nodded carefully. “But how would we get Barnes into a--”

“Drugs.” 

“Okay, you lost me,” Sam squints at her. Drugging either one of the super soldiers would take a lot of finesse, especially to drug Barnes, who would no doubt be unwilling. “How the hell is that going to help anything?” 

“We need to find Barnes,” Natasha talks fast, and Sam struggles to string her words together and make sense of them. “We need to get him and Steve in the same room. He’s going to be violent, no question about it. If Hydra got their hands on him, they’ve likely given him the mission of getting Steve, dead or alive. Right?” Sam nods hesitantly, and she barrels on. “Right. So if he’s trying to kill Steve, it’s going to be pretty hard to rationalize with him. _But_ if Steve is the last thing he sees, and we use some kind of heavy drug to put Barnes under, Steve can communicate with him through dreams. They’re still mates, after all.” 

“As long as I have physical contact,” Steve jumps in. “Bucky did it to me, to wake me up from a nightmare. He was awake, and I was asleep. It could work. I could reason with him, in his dream, and he wouldn’t be able to hurt me.” 

They all knew that Bucky was able to hurt Steve without raising a finger, but no one said anything about that. 

“It’s a long shot,” Natasha worried, “But it could work.” Through the mask, Sam couldn’t see her face, but he had a feeling she was worrying at her bottom lip; it was a nervous tick of hers. 

“It’s the best shot we have.” Steve’s eyes are molten, resolute with his mission. Sam could see that there was no point in trying to rationalize with either of them. Natasha would do whatever it took to get that brokenness out of Steve’s scent, and Steve would do whatever it took to get Bucky back. Sam, of course, was thinking a bit more rationally than either of them, but he couldn’t refute the fact that he too wanted to see Steve happy again. 

And he knew the only way to do that was to save Steve’s mate. 

“Let’s find Barnes,” Sam claps his hands together. “Shall we?” 

**

The Soldier remembers how to be patient. He finds Rogers easily enough, tracing his reeking scent through the city. His nose picks up on it more easily than he remembers ever tracing a scent before; perhaps a combination of fresh determination to have mission success, and the fact that Rogers was not using scent-blockers. 

The latter fact made the Soldier suspicious. Rogers was a public figure with many enemies, and he made himself an easy target by not using scent blockers.

Perhaps he had a trap waiting for the Soldier. Whatever it was, the Soldier would not let himself be fooled. He would not be Punished, he did not want the Cold. 

He would get Rogers, and make him _his._ Rumlow had promised.

He’d managed to tag Rogers with a bug via a small drone as he was entering his apartment building, and he listened to the man breathing softly as he trudged up the stairs. The sound brought a strange kind of calmness over the Soldier, though he couldn’t fathom why. 

As Rogers entered his apartment, the Soldier crouched down below the window of a nearby building, just his eyes peeking over with his binoculars aimed out the window to avoid being spotted, but Rogers seemed oblivious to the fact that he was being watched.

From his vantage point, he can clearly see Rogers moving about his apartment. The large windows, bare of any blinds or curtains, allowed the Soldier to track him easily. He could have made a clean shot from there, but he knew that Rumlow preferred he get Rogers alive. 

That was his first priority, and if doing so proved difficult, he would kill Rogers, and bring the body back to Rumlow as proof of his good work.

_A dead Captain America is better than a free one,_ Rumlow had said. The Soldier would not question this statement, even if it made the chest hurt for unknown reasons.

The Soldier watched curiously as Rogers stalked to the thermostat, aggressively hitting the button and fanning himself. Perhaps turning on the A/C. Rogers must like the cold--the Soldier does _not_ like the Cold. It was a cool winter day outside…yet Rogers was still warm? 

“Nat?” Rogers’ voice comes through the bug into the Soldier’s ear, and it stops him in his tracks, his jaw falling open. Rogers is holding his phone into his ear, but the Soldier can ony hear one side of the conversation.

_He--that voice? It sounded...so…?_

“I just got home, just wanted to let you know. I got in okay, apartment is empty. So our theory about him just going out for milk is...wrong, unfortunately.” Rogers pauses, looking out the window. The Soldier ducks down a little lower, but Rogers’ gaze slides past him without event, “I don’t think he’s coming back by his own volition.” 

_The voice, calling out to him--for him. Always for him, always wanting him.._

The Soldier grits his teeth together. He knew that he had been tasked with killing Rogers once before and had failed; Rumlow had told him that much. He didn’t, however, remember the details. He didn’t remember _how_ he knew Rogers, or why the mission had been a failure--other than “falling for Rogers’ tricks”. He knew only that it was imperative he succeed this time. 

He had to shut up the brain. The brain did not know anything but the mission. 

“Yeah. I’m alright, just--so hot, you know?” Rogers laughs without humour, and the Soldier finds that sound to be very...dynamic. “I’m gonna go. We still on for--? Okay. Yeah, we’ll talk later, then. Bye, Nat.” Rogers hangs up, sliding the phone back into his pocket and heading for the bedroom. 

The Soldier watches him curiously. Based on that conversation, it sounded like Rogers was perhaps expecting two different guests. The first man he worried about, whom he wasn’t sure would show up, and the one whom he had called “Nat”. It sounded like he had plans with “Nat”, but he did not detail what those plans were or when they were meant to take place.

_Natalia Romanova._ The name came to him suddenly. _The Widow._

The Soldier didn’t recall a specific memory with the Widow, but he must have read about her in a mission debrief, or faced her before on previous missions. He knew, somehow, that she was a dangerous enemy, not one to be underestimated. If he had to go up against her _and_ Rogers, his chances of mission success were low. 

Better to wait it out and get Rogers alone. 

Rogers was fanning himself with his shirt, pulling it away from his body and wiping his brow, as if to get rid of sweat. After a moment of hesitation, he tugged the Captain America sweatshirt aside, and folded it very deliberately, setting it on his pillow. The bedroom had floor to ceiling windows as well, and Barnes watched as Rogers ran his fingers over the sweatshirt. 

It must hold some strange significance to him; he treated it with such tenderness. 

“Goddamnit,” Rogers sighed softly to himself, breathy in the Soldier’s ear. Rogers wraps his arms around himself. “You’re right. We never could catch a break.” 

For a second, the Soldier freezes, afraid that Rogers had figured out he’d been bugged. It would explain him taking off the sweatshirt, to be sure. But then Rogers just shakes his head softly, and the Soldier realizes he was only talking to himself. He then crawls into the bed, lying down on top of the covers, his face close to the sweatshirt where the bug picked up on his soft breaths. 

Again, the sound made something in the Soldier’s chest relax, though he did not know why this sound soothed him. He glared at Rogers, trying to muster up the contempt he knew he ought to feel, but he felt...nothing. Numbness. 

Of all the things the Soldier had felt, being numb was not so bad. 

Rogers rids himself of his jeans, still fanning at his face and wiping sweat from his brow. The Soldier watches these movements carefully, unable to make sense of them. Maybe Rogers was sick with a fever--but then again, he was Enhanced. What could make him so feverish on a winter day? 

“Mm,” Rogers groans softly, and the Soldier’s chest seizes. As he peers harder into the binoculars, he sees that Rogers is on his back, head thrown back. His hands wander down his chest, pluck at a nipple, and then tease at the waistband of his pants. “Yeah,” he murmurs breathlessly. He pushes the waistband out of the way, and his cock springs free, red and hard, resting against his stomach. 

Rogers spit into his hand and began working himself relentlessly, his back arching up into his own touch, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure. 

The Soldier could not look away. He knew that watching this was not part of mission success. He knew that he could have interrupted, could have gotten Rogers alone and vulnerable and by surprise...but he did not move. Much like when Rumlow controlled him, the Soldier’s body did not feel like his own. It was as though he was in a trance.

“Oh, Bucky,” Rogers moaned softly--and again, the Soldier was frozen. That name...it. It _felt_ like something, like it should have sounded familiar. “Buck, yeah--” Steve ground up into his hand. His toes were curled, his chest glistened with sweat. The Soldier could not look away. He did not _want_ to look away. 

He felt an oddly possessive urge come over him. Rogers was putting on quite the show, in front of large, exposed windows. What if someone else was watching? What if someone overheard those breathy moans? 

Rogers was _his_ mission. 

“Yeah, Buck, just like that. I need you--” Rogers continued, encouraging on whomever was fulfilling his fantasy. He rolls over onto his stomach, then, and pushes his ass high in the air. 

The Soldier’s mouth watered, and his fingers flexed, aching to grab hold of the Omega, who was presenting so prettily for him. 

That’s what it must be, then. Rogers was a Omega, after all, and the Soldier was an Alpha. It is only natural that he should feel some type of attraction, some type of possessiveness. His handlers warned him of the seductive power of Omegas, as rare as they now were. 

The Soldier wets his lips as Rogers plunges two fingers deep inside himself. The bug picks up the hungry moans Rogers makes as well as the slippery sounds of his own fingers fucking his hole. Rogers’ hips rolled into his hand, his cock bouncing as he jerked his hips to get a deeper sensation, all the while pleading and moaning and whimpering with the silent Alpha he so desperately craved. He must be dripping with slick for it to sound like that, he must smell so fucking good--

The Soldier tastes something metallic, and he realizes he has bitten his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He sucks it away and continues watching, forcing himself to be gentle with the binoculars--breaking them would be a mission setback. There is a hot fire burning low in the stomach. 

“Fuck me, Alpha,” Steve murmurs breathlessly to himself, his fingers working faster and faster. He bites into a pillow, unrelenting as he fucks himself. “M’gonna--”

“Come,” the Soldier snaps to himself, the authority in his tone ringing clear, his voice sharp and demanding. His metal hand grips the window sill, cracking a bit of the concrete off as he does so, unable to tear his gaze away from the frantic Omega. “ _Come.”_

“-- _oh,”_ Steve sighs contently, as if in response. His body jerks a few times, and then goes languid, his fingers slipping out lazily. Without embarrassment, he brings them up to his lips and licks them clean. The Soldier cannot blame him--the _taste_ of the Omega’s slick, it’s…

_No._ The Soldier does not know what it tastes like, what _Rogers_ tastes like. The head hurts, but the fire in the stomach does not go out. 

He pulls the binoculars away and does not let himself think of whatever Alpha Steven Rogers was begging to take him. 

Steve belonged to _him_ , now. That was Hydra’s promise for a job well done. 

No one would take him away.

The Soldier does not see Rogers turn away. He does not see him curl in against himself, his body in just the right shape to be held.

If he had, perhaps he would have recognized the familiar curve of his body more easily. As it stood, the Soldier knew only that he had a mission to complete, and a deep aching in his chest that he couldn’t place; it felt almost like a broken bone, but somehow worse. Somehow stronger. 

_A broken heart is the worst kinda pain,_ an isolated voice floats into his head; the Soldier does not know who it belongs to. _Good thing we got each other, huh? That’s one kind of hurt we never gotta know, Buck. Isn’t that nice? Isn’t that...kinda amazing?_

_Yes,_ the Soldier sighs, without thinking. The voice, the lilt of it, the inflection, is already slipping through his hands like water. From what time had it come? _Yes, it was._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING** - partial non-con. Bucky watches Steve jerk off without Steve's consent. Steve suspects it's possible Bucky is watching and is okay with it, but this is not discussed


	11. no this ain't the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Asset pursues Steve; Steve tries to get his Alpha back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! <3 It's been a while since I last updated so please forgive the break once again; like I've said before, things are just really insane right now in my personal life and I'm juggling this along with a few other projects.  
> BUT your patience is EVERYTHING to me and your comments seriously make me so fricken happy, you have no idea. 
> 
> I love you all so much and I hope you're staying safe <3

_Over and over and over again,_   
_I want to scream from the rooftops_   
_"No, this ain't the end!"_   
_But amongst all these villains_   
_I will be a friend._   
_Amongst all these villains_   
_I will be a friend._

\- "Villains" , Luca Fogale

* * *

Steve feels empty for the rest of the evening, the burning of his heat slowly turning more and more into an ache. Everything hurt--his skin, his head, his heart. It was a hum in the background of every thought, a constant vibration of hyper-sensitivity like an electric current over his skin.

Steve refuses to look out the windows of his apartment; he had no idea if Bucky was watching, or listening, but he had to assume that he was and he had to be careful of how he acted. He _would not_ mess this up. 

Before, Bucky had bugged his apartment. Steve had no idea if that was the case again, and Steve didn’t want to look for bugs in case Bucky was watching. He didn’t want Bucky to have any reason to believe that Steve was on to him. Otherwise, he might hesitate to attack.

And Steve didn’t want him to hesitate. He didn’t think he could be patient enough to wait however long it would take Bucky to regroup and attack again. 

Steve needed action. 

Trying not let his agitation show, he pulls out his phone and types a quick message, keeping his face as unreadable as possible. 

**Steve:** [8:21pm] Let me know when you’re ready. 

Natasha’s reply comes just a second later. 

**Natasha** : [8:21pm] We’re ready. 

**Natasha** : [8:22pm] We’ve got everything we need. 

Steve swallows, but finds his mouth has gone dry. _Everything they need_ being the heavy-duty sedatives that would ensure Bucky is put into a deep sleep, in the hopes that Steve would be able to get through to him in their dreams. 

Steve wasn’t normally one to get nervous before a mission, but now he had a fluttering feeling in his chest that wasn’t altogether pleasant. The stakes were high with this, and Steve didn’t know how much longer he could be strong. He desperately wanted to break down. 

Natasha and Sam, as per their plan, were waiting in the apartment next door to Steve’s. Discreetly, Steve brushes a hand over his face and pops his comm into his ear. If Bucky was watching, there was no way he would have been able to tell, nor would he be able to see the flesh colored bit in Steve’s ear. 

He coughs twice, and Sam’s voice comes through: “Roger that, Cap, we’ve got you live on comms. Now we just gotta...wait.” 

And Sam was right; there was nothing left to do but wait. They had no idea of when, or even if, Bucky was going to ambush Steve. They had _assumed_ that his orders from Hydra had been to capture Steve for their desired Winter Soldier 2.0, but they could have taken him to some far off place to wipe him first, or put him into cryo, or--any number of things, really. 

They were working on hope, and Steve didn’t know how much more of that he had left after watching Bucky slip through his fingers again and again. 

Steve opens his window wide, letting the cool evening air into the apartment. It felt good on his flushed skin and helped steady his hands.

Delicately, he inhaled through his nose, analyzing the scents as they came through. The normal smells of the city filtered in without raising alarm, but then--but then there was _something,_ just on the peripherals of Steve’s breath, that seemed like _him._

His Alpha. 

Steve tries to keep his face unreadable as he steps back from the window. _If_ it wasn’t just his heat deceiving him, Bucky had to be close enough to smell. Which was close enough to strike. 

**Steve** : [8:34pm]: I think he’s close. Close enough to smell, even.

**Sam** [8:35pm]: I don’t smell anything, but you’d know better than me.

 **Sam [** 8:36pm]: Hope he decides to make a move soon. Or do you think he’ll wait until later, when you’re in bed? 

Steve presses his lips together. He wasn’t sure. The Winter Soldier didn’t have the same attack strategies as James Barnes. He was more calculated, more objective. 

**Steve** [8:38pm]: It’s possible. 

**Steve** [8:41pm]: It might draw him in if I appear more vulnerable. Easier target.

Deciding that what he had suggested might indeed be true, Steve began his night routine, changing into some soft track pants and a t-shirt, making himself an herbal tea, and then getting into bed with a book. He didn’t eye his weapons, or his shield. He didn’t set his alarm. Everything about his posture was relaxed. 

His eyes skimmed over the pages, but he was unable to absorb a single word as he did so, his mind too occupied by thoughts of Bucky, of anticipation. At any moment, the window could slide open, the front door could be kicked in, and he’d have to be ready. 

**Natasha** [9:14pm] No activity--maybe you should pretend to sleep. 

**Steve** [9:18pm]: This early? 

**Natasha** [9:20]: you’re a senior. Old people go to bed really early.

Steve rolls his eyes at his phone and lets out a dramatic yawn, going as far as to rub his eyes to really sell the story that he was just unusually tired. Natasha had a point, noting was more vulnerable than sleeping, and that would definitely make Bucky more comfortable attacking, giving him the clear upper hand. 

Steve kept “reading” for a few more pages, letting his eyelids be heavy as he did so, trying to make his posture relaxed even though he felt anything but.

His skin still crawled with desire, his heart still ached with abandonment; but he had to hold himself together if he wanted a shot at saving Bucky. 

He had lost him too many times. 

He yawned again, and then softly closed his book, setting it on the bedside table. With slow-blinking eyes and clumsy movements--he had to appear non-threatening, after all--he reached over and flicked out the lamp beside him. Darkness enveloped the room. 

Although he could see better in the dark than most humans, Steve knew that the darkness gave Bucky a huge advantage. 

And he knew that Bucky would like that, it would make him all the more likely to attack, _if_ he was watching. 

Steve had a feeling, though inexplicable, that Bucky _was_ watching him. That, accompanied by the scent he was sure he’d caught earlier, Steve chose to believe that the plan was going to work.

He closed his eyes and pretended to slowly even out his breathing. He lets himself remember Brooklyn, their tiny apartment, and the way Bucky laughed softly in his ear. Instantly, as the memories come back like waves, his muscles relax for real. 

_“You’re shaking like a leaf, honey. Are you cold?” Bucky murmured, shuffling into the bedroom. His hair was wet from his shower, and droplets of water rolled down his bare shoulders and torso._

_“Not cold,” Steve grumbled, tugging the blanket up to his chin. “S’just my heat. You know how it gets, the last few days.”_

_“Ah,” Bucky nods, immediately understanding. He had helped Steve through many heats, after all, and Bucky knew the stages well enough by now. “You just need me to--”_

_“--Hold me,” Steve finishes, already making room for him in the bed. “Yeah. D’you mind?” Steve hated feeling needy, and he wouldn’t meet Bucky’s eyes as he climbed into bed beside his Omega._

_“Do I mind?” Bucky snorts, wrapping his arms like a vice around Steve, tugging the small omega clean on top of his chest, their bodies stretched out against one another. “S’my favorite passtime, sweetheart. Is this better?”_

_Steve’s muscles stop quivering immediately, and he lets his head fall down into the crook of Bucky’s neck, inhaling the clean scent of skin and soap. “Yes,” He breathes, the exhaustion finally overtaking him. The ringing in his ears stop, and the whole world suddenly seems like a much quieter place to be. “Much better.”_

_“Good,” Bucky hums, and the sense of satisfaction is clear in his voice; he loved when Steve needed him like this. Steve wasn’t the typical omega, and wouldn’t let Bucky take care of him as easily as Bucky would have liked. So when he got to be openly needed, he reveled in it. “You can relax now, baby. I’m here. I’ve got you. Not gonna go anywhere without you for the next little while at least.”_

_“Stay put,” Steve orders around a yawn, snuggling in closer. “And that’s an order.”_

Steve counts 523 breaths before there is a stirring sound at the balcony, making him snap out of his memories of the past. 

He is instantly tense and alert, though a part of his heart shudders in longing at the memory, the security and safety that came with being wrapped up with his Alpha. The loneliness he felt now only made Steve all the more desperate to ensure that he got Bucky back; he wouldn’t lose him again.

Steve measures his breathing, keeping it quiet and even. Bucky had to believe Steve was an easy target. Unsuspecting. 

“Get ready,” he whispers into his comm, his voice barely audible. He prays that it’s enough for Sam and Nat to pick up on, but not enough for Bucky to hear.

Steve hears a quiet fussing at the balcony door, and then it slides open with a soft whisper. He sits up in bed, and flicks on the light, his muscles instantly coiled for a fight. 

Bucky was there, staring back at him with dark, formidable eyes, looking only a little bit surprised that Steve was awake and tense. Bucky was wearing a henley, his combat boots, and Steve’s track pants--that must have been what he left in that morning. He’s got a gun tucked into the waistband of his track pants and another one in hand, and no doubt multiple other weapons placed at various points on his body. Although he looked oddly civilian, Steve knew not to be fooled; this was the Winter Soldier. He could tell by the hard look in his Alpha’s eyes. 

“Coulda knocked,” Steve mutters, slowly sliding his legs out from under the sheets. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Bucky. “Your Ma taught you better manners than this, Buck.” 

“Don’t move unless I tell you to,” Bucky points a gun at him, between his eyes. “Or I’ll kill you. Understand?” 

Steve holds his hands up in the universal sign for surrender. “I don’t think you will, Bucky,” Steve says softly, “You’d never hurt me. It’s me, Buck. It’s Steve.” 

Bucky’s brow furrows slightly at that, but he blinks out of it, and the hard line of his jaw resets.

“I know who you are. Steven Rogers, alias Captain America. Stand up. Slowly. Any sudden movements, and you’re dead. Move now.” 

Slowly, Steve gets to his feet, which are bare. He feels exposed and vulnerable, and acutely aware of the gun that could so easily end his life; but he isn’t afraid. 

Steve never really learned how to be afraid of Bucky, even when Bucky had been a few good hits away from killing him. Call it stupidity, or call it faith...but it was the unavoidable truth. Bucky was Steve’s biggest blind spot. 

“You know me,” Steve whispers, in his softest, warmest tone, putting every day they spent together, every kiss and tender touch, into his voice. “Bucky, _honey_ . You _know_ me, I’m _yours._ ” 

Something on Bucky’s face changes at that. He tilts his head consideringly, and then nods once, sharp and military-like. “Yes,” Bucky agrees easily enough. Something in Steve melts, thinking maybe he’d broken through Bucky’s programming; and then Bucky finishes his thought “--My mission. My reward.” 

“Your reward?” Steve hadn’t heard that term before, in his previous encounters with the Winter Soldier. “No--no, Buck, I’m your Omega. You’re my Alpha. Remember?”

Bucky smiles, all teeth. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “My reward,” He repeats, “For a mission success.”

Steve’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, his heartbeat quickening as he tries to make sense of that dark, hungry look on Bucky’s face. “You get to kill me?” 

“I get to _keep_ you,” Bucky corrects, his voice nearly a growl. He blinks, and then seems to remember himself, his eyes narrowing. He readjusts his grip on the gun, and nods towards the floor. “Get on your knees.” 

“Bucky--” 

“I _said,_ get on your knees. Now.” 

_Shit._ Bucky was using his Alpha-voice. Steve couldn’t tell if Bucky had meant to or not, but it was compelling, all the same. When other Alphas used it on Steve, he could feel the pull, but resist easily enough. When it was _his_ Alpha, during the end of his heat-cycle...it was almost impossible to resist. And he didn’t _want_ to resist. 

He drops to his knees hard, his legs suddenly forgetting how to support him. 

“Don’t move,” Bucky commands sharply, taking a few strides closer. 

Steve sticks his chin up definitely, but that’s about all he can do to defy Bucky at that moment. His biology was betraying him. He wanted nothing more than for Bucky to touch him...even if that touch was violent. 

He swallowed, waiting with baited breath. He knew that Natasha and Sam were listening, that they were waiting for him to prompt Bucky, to try to get him to _remember._ They could burst in at any moment, and when they did, Steve had to be sure he had _some_ kind of hold on Bucky. He wanted to be able to find a way into Bucky’s head once he was out cold. Bucky had to be thinking about him. 

“Bucky,” Steve tries again. “I’m your Omega. We are _mates._ Remember? You love me. You’re gentle with me. You’d never hurt me.” 

“The Asset is not capable of love,” Bucky mutters under his breath, like it’s as obvious as the weather.

“Maybe _the Asset_ isn’t,” Steve huffs, “but _you_ are. James Buchanan Barnes, you are more than capable of love.” 

Bucky takes a few more steps closer, until they are only inches apart. “Are you going to come willingly?” Bucky demanded, ignoring Steve’s prompts. “Or do I have to kill you?” 

“I’d follow you anywhere,” Steve blurts out, without really meaning to. Bucky seems annoyed by this promise, and he presses the cold barrel of the gun to Steve’s temple. Unblinking, Steve stares up at Bucky through his lashes. He feels safe. “I trust you.”

“Trust me?” Bucky laughs, a humorous sound. His lip curls up into something of a snarl, and it’s a face Steve doesn’t recognize. It’s a face that belonged to the Soldier, not to his Alpha. “Odd thing to say to someone holding a gun to your head.”

“You won’t hurt me,” Steve decides, but that only seems to anger Bucky. “Buck, I trust you--”

Bucky circles around behind him and grabs his wrists roughly. He snaps some kind of hand cuff onto them that feels like vibranium or some kind of extra-strong metal, cool to the touch. “I’m your Omega. Smell the air, Bucky. I’m in heat. Don’t you feel it when you touch my skin? You can just--”

“Shut up,” Bucky snaps, coming around to Steve’s front again.

“--we used to live together, in Brooklyn. You’d pull me close every night, into your arms, and keep me warm. ‘Cause I got cold, you know? A-And being cold is the worst--”

“I said _shut up_ !” Bucky roars. Before Steve can register what’s happening, the back of Bucky’s metal hand connects with his cheek. Instantly, Steve’s lip splits open, blood dribbling down his face and onto his lip. He hardly feels it. “My mission is justice. My mission is for Hydra. You are going to be my reward. _My_ plaything.”

Steve spits out the mouthful of blood that wells up, and stares up at Bucky again. “Your plaything?” Steve laughs dryly, getting distracted by that notion. “You think Hydra would really let you _have_ anything? I know you’re in there, Bucky--wake up. Hydra _doesn’t_ give rewards, only punishments.” 

“My handler promised me a reward for mission success,” Bucky snaps back. 

“Oh yeah? And how often have they _rewarded_ you in the past?” Steve raises an eyebrow. His cheek stings. “If you took me, I’d be passed around. No way they’d let Captain America belong only to _you,”_ Steve snorts, though there is nothing funny about what he’s saying; he knows in his heart of hearts it’s true, and he can, unfortunately, picture it all too clearly. “Captain America, Hydra’s greatest enemy, and an Omega to boot? I’d be passed around, alright. Everyone would want a turn.” 

Something metal clatters to the floor, and Steve sees that Bucky’s grip on the gun had shattered the handle to pieces. Steve jumps a little at the sound, shocked that Bucky had had just a visceral reaction, so much so that he would actually break one of his weapons. 

“ _No one_ else will have you,” Bucky growled in a deep voice, “You are _my_ reward for mission success.” 

“I’m your mate,” Steve corrects fiercely, his hands flexing in the cuffs. “Remember me, dammit! Remember that we used to dance in the kitchen to Billie Holliday--remember the way you held me when I’d shake--”

Bucky grabs his chin roughly, and looks down at him with contempt, and Steve stops short in what he was saying. 

Bucky’s right hand is calloused in all the ways Steve remembers, and for a moment, his brain short-circuits, as the relief of skin to skin contact takes over. He lets out a soft sigh, and closes his eyes without thinking, pressing his face into Bucky’s hand, no matter that Bucky’s grip was tight enough to leave bruises. 

As the seconds pass, the grip lightens, from something restrictive, to just holding Steve’s jaw, as a lover might do.

“You like it, when I touch you,” Bucky says dazedly, his voice becoming something softer, something more _himself._

“Makes it easier to breathe,” Steve admits hoarsely. He licks his lips, and tastes blood. “I’m your Omega, Buck, and you’re so gentle with me. You’re so careful, you’d never want to hurt me. You make me feel safe, you--you take such good care of me.” 

“I make you feel…safe?” Bucky whispers, his thumb sweeping across Steve’s cheekbone softly, hesitating. “Safe?” he repeats, more to himself than to Steve. “With me?” 

“You _love_ me,” Steve argues fiercely, opening his eyes again. “You were with _me_ when Hydra got you, Buck, you belong with me, not them. I would never, ever hurt you like they hurt you. And you would never have to go on another mission, ever again.” 

“No,” Bucky snaps, his fingers flexing once again, digging hard into Steve’s flesh. Steve can’t make himself dislike the touch, because it’s touch, nonetheless, from his Alpha. “No; Hydra is _good._ My mission is--is justice.” 

“You don’t want to hurt me, do you?”

“The Asset does not _want,”_ Bucky snarls back, tilting Steve’s head back at a painful angle. “I _will_ have mission success.” 

“You _love_ me,” Steve insisted, tears springing to his eyes. The man looking back at him was, in every way, _his_ Alpha, but in so many ways, he was a stranger that Steve didn’t recognize at all. “M’gonna bring you back, Buck. M’gonna save you.” 

“I will have mission success,” Bucky repeats viciously, and his hand slides down to Steve’s throat, gripping tight enough to immediately restrict Steve’s airflow. “You will come willingly, or I’ll shoot you and leave the body for your friends to find.” 

Steve wouldn’t let the words get to him. He had to speak quickly, before he passed out from the lack of oxygen. Sam and Nat wouldn’t be able to do this without his help.

“On my eighteenth birthday, you took me to Coney Island,” Steve rasped quickly, “They always did fireworks on the fourth of July, but you--you told me that the fireworks were just for me,” He wheezed, “And you took me under the pier, and kissed me, ‘cause you said I deserved to be kissed ‘till my lips were good and swollen--”

“No,” Bucky growled, “No.” 

“-- _yes._ And you t-told me that you’d be my rock, my c-constant, no matter w-what the world threw at u-us--” 

“Shut. _Up.”_ Bucky’s grip gets impossibly tighter. 

“You l-loved me, more than your _o-own life,_ ” Steve wheezed desperately, getting lightheaded. “That’s what you t-told me.” 

Bucky opens his mouth, as if to say something else, but he stays silent, his lips parted. He breathes down hard at Steve, the hardness in his features shifting to something like recognition. 

“моя любовь?” Bucky wondered quietly, his fingers relaxing just enough to let Steve get some air. He gasps it in hungrily, as Bucky whispers, “моя омега?”

Steve looks up through his lashes, trying to exude _love_ from every pore in his body. At that very moment, Sam and Natasha burst through the same window Bucky had slid in through. 

Bucky is instantly at attention, stiffening up and whipping around to face them. 

“Bucky,” Steve tries desperately, coughing as Bucky’s hand falls away. His throat _burned,_ and he knew he’d have some nasty marks to worry about later. Steve knew he had to direct Bucky’s attention back to him; the sedative wouldn’t work unless he was thinking about Steve when he went under. Getting Bucky’s attention doesn’t work, Bucky’s eyes stay locked on the threat.

Sam and Nat are poised, the gun holding the sedative gripped tightly in Natasha’s hand. Sam’s got his own weapons in his hold, but those were strictly for a worst-case scenario. Steve hoped it wouldn’t come to that. 

“Barnes, we’re not here to hurt you,” Natasha reasons calmly, though Steve didn’t know how comforting her message would be to Bucky while she still held the weapon aimed at him. “Or Steve.” 

That seems to do something. Bucky straightens up and he adjusts his stance, blocking Steve with his body. 

Something in Steve melts at that--because that was so _Bucky,_ putting his body in between the presumed threat and Steve. Using his body as a shield for his Omega, whether he consciously realized it or not. It could simply be because Hydra wanted Steve alive, but it didn’t matter. 

Steve saw it as a sign that _his_ Alpha was in there, the man who loved him, the man who promised every firework in the city was lighting up the New York skyline for Steve Rogers and Steve Rogers alone. And _God,_ Steve believed him. That was the thing about Bucky Barnes, he could make you feel worthy of that kind of love. 

“Bucky,” Steve tries again--nothing. He shoots Natasha a desperate look, and she returns it. 

He had to do something. “Bucky, look at me, please,” 

Bucky wouldn’t. His posture was stiff and he wouldn’t take his eyes off of Natasha and Sam. 

“ _Alpha,”_ Steve nearly whimpered, letting his head fall forward. He was close enough that his forehead rested on Bucky’s thigh. “Please,” Steve didn’t know what he was asking for, exactly, but there must be something desperate and sad enough in his voice that he actually feels Bucky hesitate. Bucky turns to look down at him, and Steve turns his face up to his Alpha. 

“I love you,” Steve promises quickly, in a rush of words. “Remember the war, Buck? Remember telling me we’d always have our dreams, that we’d always find each other there--”

There is a sound in the air, like a soft whistle, so quiet that Steve wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t been listening. Bucky blinks once as it enters his neck, and raises his hand to touch the needle. 

Before he can, Steve grabs his hand and kisses his palm. “Remember the nights you cried by my bed, thinking you’d lose me to the winter, to the cold? Remember the last embrace before you shipped off and the letters you wrote me, and--” 

Bucky’s lips part into a soft _O,_ and he drops to his knees first, pure shock written on his face. “Steve?” He gasps out, as his eyelids droop. 

Now at eye level, Steve grabs Bucky’s face and guides it gently to his neck, where Bucky would be able to smell him the strongest as he faded out. “Remember how you sang me to sleep to drown out the sound of the gunfire and bombs, or how I kissed you ‘till I’d give myself an asthma attack, or the way that you’d press a mug of tea into my hands on a cold morning--” 

Bucky lets out a soft sigh, that sounds like _relief,_ and sags his body into Steves, finally unconscious. 

Steve is frozen with shock for a few moments longer, before slowly, his hand comes to cradle the back of Bucky’s neck. He pushes the rest of the fluid out of the syringe into Bucky’s body, and then removes the needle tenderly, putting it aside. 

“We did it,” Sam murmurs, the room that was full of commotion and tension just moments ago now oddly silent. 

“ _Our_ work is done,” Natasha agrees, nodding at Sam before turning to Steve, tucking her gun in the waistband of her pants. “You need to meet him wherever he’s gone, and bring him back.” 

“I know,” Steve rasps, his throat still tender from Bucky’s grip. His skin was singing with the relief of Bucky’s closeness. “It’s up to me now.” 

He would meet Bucky in his dreams, would give him a memory strong enough to hold on to. He would bring his mate back. He felt strong enough to pull Bucky from whatever abyss he’d wandered into, free him from whatever grasp Hydra had. 

Steve ran his hands softly through Bucky’s hair, pressing his bleeding lip to Bucky’s temple. “I’ve got you, honey,” he murmurs, “You’re safe. You’re home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm wincestplease on tumblr if you ever wanna cry with me about punks in love 🥺


	12. you're the first thing I'll be seeking with these arms of mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion to our story <3

If the storm comes, if we burn up  
If the wells run dry  
You're my reason to believe in  
Another life

If it all ends, and it's over  
If the sky falls fire  
Best believe me, you will see me  
On the other side

And if the earth shakes  
Like the big 'quake  
And our lives flash by  
You're the first thing  
I'll be seeking  
With these arms of mine

And when we're older  
And we're ready  
To leave Earth behind  
Here's to hopin'  
It's exactly  
At the same damn time

_ \- When we're older, James Blake  _

* * *

_ The concrete is cold on Steve’s bare feet, and the air is chilled. He binks around the room, getting his bearings.  _

_ The scene before him is a familiar one; a large, empty grey room with the chair,  _ Bucky’s  _ chair, the long back of it facing him. The fluorescent lights flicker above him forebodingly, and an uneasy sense washes over him.  _

_ This isn’t the place Steve had been hoping Bucky would bring them to; but he would make the most of it, regardless.  _

_ The light flickers again, and when the light restores Steve’s vision, Steve sees there is a figure in the chair...Bucky watches him with a blank gaze.  _

_ He’s shirtless, with a rubber mouth guard clenched between his teeth. His arms are restrained at the wrists, forearms, and biceps, and his calves and thighs are tightly bound to the chair as well, giving him no room to writhe.  _

_ “Bucky,” Steve says, but gets no reaction. He takes a few steps closer. The sight of Bucky in the chair made his stomach roll. Steve hated that even in his dreams, Bucky came here, the place where he belonged to Hydra. Even though Bucky was thinking about Steve as he went under, those thoughts still led him to a place of darkness. “Bucky, it’s me. It’s Steve.”  _

_ Lazily, Bucky’s eyes flicker up to his, and then drift away, uninterested. He shakes his head, as if trying to dismiss a bad thought.  _

_ “It’s me,” He tries again, his voice more desperate. “Bucky, we’re in your head, you--you fell asleep. Well,” he laughs a little, without humor, “actually, I kind of drugged you so that you’d fall asleep, but that’s just because I needed to talk to you here. C-can we talk?”  _

_ Bucky’s brow furrows just the slightest, giving him away.  _

_ “Hey--c’mon,” Steve glares down at his mate, “At least  _ look  _ at me, Bucky,”  _

_ Bucky spits out the mouth guard. His eyes are hard, unforgiving. “You’re not real.”  _

_ “Yes, I am,” Steve falls to his knees before Bucky, looking up at him with tears in his eyes. He couldn’t stand the indifference written all over Bucky’s face--indifference meant failure. It meant Steve hadn’t gotten Bucky back. He had let his mate down once again. “I’m real, Buck we’re in your dream, and I’m here ‘cause I really, really need you to remember me, so that when you wake up, we can  _ finally  _ be together. Away from all of this,” he gestures to the room, “Away from them.”  _

_ Bucky swallows, but looks away again, shaking his head. Steve thinks he sees a crack in Bucky’s cold facade but he can’t be sure if it’s really there or if he’s imagining it. “No. You’re not real. They’re going to wipe me and I won’t remember again, and when I don’t remember...you disappear.”  _

_ “Not this time,” Steve’s fingers work deftly at the buckles on Bucky’s restraints, first at his calves, and then his thighs, as he talks. “No more wipes, no more forgetting. Hydra will never get their goddamn hands on you again. You can come home, with me. And we’ll figure out the rest as we go.”  _

_ Bucky sighs, but it’s the kind of sigh that an impatient parent gives their child, a dismissing kind of sigh, like Bucky wasn’t taking to heart anything that Steve was saying.“You’re stubborn. I always remember you as being so goddamn stubborn.”  _

_ “You’re not imagining this, Bucky, I’m  _ real, _ ” Steve curses, not knowing any other way to make the Alpha believe him, “I’m here to fight for you.” _

_ “It’s nice,” Bucky closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the headrest of the chair. “When I remember, when I imagine you...it’s always so nice, while it lasts. You make me feel human again, for a while.”  _

_ “You are human,” Steve’s voice breaks, as he realizes what Bucky’s words mean. Between wipes, when Bucky was able, he remembered his strong-willed Omega, and this vision of Steve brought Bucky some comfort...only for it to be ripped away again.  _

_ To experience that pain over and over again…  _

_ “I’m yours, and you’re mine,” Steve frees Bucky’s right arm, and then his left one, tugging the metal to his cheek, pressing the palm to his face. “I’m  _ real,  _ and when I wake you up, I’m gonna be there, holding your hand.”  _

_ Bucky opens his eyes, and blinks down at Steve. “I don’t--I don’t remember you,” He denies, but there is something faltering in his tone, like the words were an automatic response that he didn’t really mean. After all, he’d already admitted to remembering Steve.  _

_ “You do remember,” Steve accuses. “You  _ remember  _ me.”  _

_ Bucky frowns at him, tugging his fingers out of Steve’s grasp. “I don’t want to remember you,” Bucky nearly growls. “Remembering you  _ hurts.” 

_ The words feel like a slap in the face. Steve shudders. “Why?”  _

_ “Because I let you down,” Bucky’s bottom lip trembles, and Steve’s heart breaks as it does. He forgot how young Bucky looked when he cried. “Shit, honey, I. I let you down. So many goddamn times.” _

_ Steve undoes the last buckle around Bucky’s chest, and then climbs up into his lap. He doesn’t fit there like he used to, when he was small, and could curl up on top of Bucky like a cat, but he makes it work. He folds himself small enough that he can rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder, burying his nose in Bucky’s neck. He feels Bucky’s shoulders shake with the silent sobs.  _

_ “You have never, _ ever  _ let me down,” Steve says fiercely. “You have always been the strongest, kindest, most  _ brave  _ person I’ve ever known. And you’ve made me so proud.”  _

_ “It hurts to remember,” Bucky sobs, but his arms clutch wildly at Steve. “There’s so m-much  _ pain,” 

_ “I know,” Steve’s own voice breaks, as he holds Bucky back tightly, as if God herself was trying to trip the two of them apart. “I know it hurts, Buck, but with all the pain there is so much good. So much joy, and love, and laughter--” _

_ “I’m scared,” Bucky admits into Steve’s hair. “I don’t want to let you down again, Stevie. I don’t want to break your heart.”  _

_ “Then be with me,” Steve’s hands become claws at Bucky’s sides, gripping him hard enough to leave bruises. Bucky holds him back with the same kind of desperation. “God, Buck, just--just stay with me.”  _

_ Bucky inhales a deep breath, getting control of his sobs. His voice doesn’t break when he says, “There’s so much more to it than that. It’s complicated.”  _

_ “Then let me make it simple,” Steve pulls back so he can look Bucky in the eye. “You and me, Buck. That’s what it’s about. That’s all. The rest--the rest we can figure out.”  _

_ Bucky raises his flesh hand and runs it down Steve’s cheek, wiping away a tear as he does. “I could hurt you in more ways than one,” He argues gently. His eyelashes were wet. “What then?” His hand slides lower, to grip Steve’s neck. His hand puts pressure on either side of Steve’s neck, squeezing without actually restricting airflow.  _

_ “Buck,” Steve shudders, feeling the calluses of Bucky’s fingers hold his throat.  _

_ Steve’s hand locks around Bucky’s and slides it off his neck with no resistance from his Alpha, his eyes full of nothing but love and trust, perhaps a bit of sadness. He kisses each one of Bucky’s knuckles.  _

_ Steve didn’t want to tell Bucky that dying at his hands wouldn’t be the worst way to go. He had a feeling that would do the opposite of soothe his mate. “I would defend myself,” Steve lies smoothly. “If I h-had to.”  _

_ “Bullshit,” Bucky spits out the word like it’s poison. His fingers flex in Steve’s hand, and then grip it back, hard, nearly hard enough to hurt, as if pressing their skin together with enough force would meld them into one, inseparable unit. “You would let me kill you before you raised a hand against me. And that--that means I can’t trust you.” _

_ Steve winces at that, but he understood what Bucky was saying. “Do you want to hurt me?” He asks softly, already knowing the answer.  _

_ Bucky flinches. “Of course not. But I ain’t always myself, Steve. There are parts of my head that I don’t own.”  _

_ Steve swallows. “Parts of you belong to Hydra, maybe, for now,” Steve admits quietly, his heart racing, “But this,” His free hand presses to Bucky’s chest, where he feels the quick thumping of his Alpha’s heart, “This has always belonged to me.” _

_ “There’s nothing in me that they haven’t poisoned,” Bucky turns away, as if he can’t bear to look at Steve as he says the words, “Not even my heart, Steve.” _

_ “You told me once,” Steve inhales raggedly, “That you heart was my heart. Do you remember?” Steve’s mind flashes to the snowy Brooklyn night, lying in the streets with Bucky, the city going silent around them. They had felt like the only two people in the world.  _

_ “Told you you had eyes like stars,” Bucky murmurs. “I--I remember. But Steve--” _

_ “I’ve kept your heart safe for you,” Steve holds Bucky’s hand over his chest, letting Bucky feel the steady beat of it. “There are memories and promises we made--things in here that Hydra will never, ever be able to take away.”  _

_ Bucky inhales sharply, a soft little gasp, like the words had resonated deep in his bones. “Steve,” he breathes. “If I snapped, if they got to me again….would you let me kill you?”  _

Yes,  _ Steve almost promises.  _ Yes, anything. 

_ But he knows it isn’t what Bucky wants to hear.  _

_ “I would try to save you,” Steve’s fingers lace with Bucky’s, and he pulls their hands up to his chest, holding them there. He grips Bucky’s fingers with an equally tight hold, both their knuckles white with the force. And hadn’t they always been like that--holding on to each other desperately, without lapse, to the point of pain?  _

_ “I  _ would  _ find a way to save you. My days of betraying you are over,” Steve promises, his voice ringing with a deep commitment. This much, at least, he could say truthfully. “I will never abandon you again.”  _

_ Bucky is silent for half a second, then he rips his hand away. When Steve meets his grey eyes, they are ablaze with anger.  _

_ “Bucky, what’s--” _

_ “What the  _ fuck  _ did you just say?” Bucky demands, his hands curling into fists at his side. Bucky jumps to his feet and Steve slides off his lap as he goes, landing on his own feet, blinking in shock. He misses the warmth of Bucky’s body under his.  _

_ “Buck,” Steve blinks, shocked by the sudden burst of anger when Bucky had been so calm just a few seconds ago. His hands feel useless when they’re not intertwined with Bucky’s. “I don’t understand.”  _

_ “Repeat. What. You. Said,” Bucky growled through clenched teeth.  _

_ Steve scrambles to understand what he could have said to upset Bucky, and comes up blank. “I just said I wouldn’t let you down or-or abandon you again,” He repeats in a rush of words. He didn’t comprehend what could have set Bucky off like this. “What’s wrong with that?” _

_ “Look at me,” Bucky hisses, “ _ Look  _ at me.”  _

_ Steve does.  _

_ Bucky grabs his face roughly in both hands, shaking him a little. “Steve,” He huffs, his angry demeanour deflating a little as he searches Steve’s eyes. Steve stares gravely back. “If you won’t let me say that I’ve let you down, then you sure as shit can’t go spouting nonsense about  _ betraying  _ me. I--I don’t even know where you got that idea, but get it out of that thick skull of yours. Okay? You have never, _ ever _ betrayed me.”  _

_ “I have,” Steve closes his eyes. He can’t bear to look at Bucky as the memories flash behind his eyelids, where they live permanently. He can never forget, not for a second.  _

_ Bucky falling, Bucky’s dreams with the chair and his hoarse screaming as they  _ hurt  _ him and made him forget. The scar tissue piled on top of itself on his left shoulder, the gun he needed to feel safe-- _

_ “Everything they ever did to you,” he shudders, “Is my fault. I don’t want to talk about it, Bucky, that’s just...how it is. We all have our crosses to bear; that’s mine.” His worst, most unforgivable sin. It didn’t matter how many hours he spent in church. Steve didn’t want to repent, he didn’t want forgiveness.  _

_ He deserved the pain the knowledge brought him. Even as much as he tortured himself with the guilt, his responsibility in his love’s greatest suffering, it still wasn’t even a fraction of the suffering that Bucky endured. _

_ There is a silence so long Steve is half-afraid to open his eyes, afraid that Bucky had woken up and left him alone in this dreamland. But when he blinks his eyes open, Bucky is staring at him with a white-hot fire burning in his pale eyes. Steve thinks he’s even shaking a bit, the anger enough to make him tremble. _

_ “ _ Tell me _ you haven’t been walking around every day for the last three years with that weight on your shoulders, Steve,” Bucky’s voice is a low, dangerous growl that resonates deep in Steve’s bones. If Steve thought Bucky was someone dangerous, if his body didn’t know Bucky’s so completely, Steve would have been terrified of that tone. “ _ Tell me _.”  _

_ Steve takes in a deep breath. He didn’t have time to hash out this fight, but he knew they wouldn’t get anywhere with Bucky vibrating with anger. “You didn’t care about fighting for the country, Buck. C’mon, look at me--you know I’m right. And it’s not a bad thing, don’t make that face.” Steve’s hand reaches out to smooth the frown lines on Bucky’s face, but he drops it before he makes contact, thinking better of it after seeing the blaze behind Bucky’s eyes. “But you did. You followed me around Europe, facing every front imaginable, facing the worst of the Nazis, of Hydra.” He shudders again, as goosebumps rise all over his skin. He could remember Bucky clutching him, begging him not to go in there,  _ Steve, you’ll die, I’ll lose you,  _ pleading with him _ to just please, let’s go somewhere, just you and me, leaving this all behind-- _ “You followed  _ me,  _ Bucky, because I was yours, and we had to be together, and my stubborn self never gave you any other choice. You followed me into the fire and I didn’t see you out of it. I let you die.”  _

_ “Steve--” Bucky tries, but Steve won’t have any interruptions. Now that the dam has opened, the flood of emotions rushes in. Steve works quickly to shut the gate, to deal with it another day when he could afford to cry himself dry. Not now. He was here for a reason.  _

_ “No,” He cuts Bucky off sharply. “Let’s not argue. That’s not what I’m here to do.” _

_ “What are you here to do?” Bucky asks. It sounds like the anger in his voice has melted away somewhat, and he sounds defeated and exhausted.  _

_ “I want you to wake up and remember me,” Steve says simply, proud that his voice doesn’t break. “I want you to come home and  _ stay  _ home, and then I want us to work with the rest of my team, and burn Hydra to the goddamn ground. Because we’re partners, Buck, on the battlefield and--and in life. And we weren’t  _ meant  _ to be alone.” Steve shudders.  _ He couldn’t be alone, wasn’t strong enough for it. 

_ Bucky lets out a long breath, and then his large hand is wrapping around the back of Steve’s neck and tugging him in close, muttering, “C’mere, sweetheart.”  _

_ Steve does. God, he melts into Bucky like he was dying for the contact. He presses his nose into Bucky’s neck, inhaling the familiar scent, and his arms wrap tightly around Bucky’s shoulders.  _

_ “Look how hard you’ve been fighting for me,” Bucky murmurs, his chin pressing into Steve’s shoulder. “How could you ever think you’ve let me down? You’re my Stevie, you--you could never let me down. Not in this life, honey, not ever.”  _

_ “Please remember me,” Steve rasps, not even aware he was crying until the tears had streamed down his face. “I’m scared, and I...I need you. I need you so bad. Please come back to me.”  _

_ “You have never, ever let me down, honey,” Bucky croons, pressing gentle kisses to the skin where Steve’s neck meets his shoulder. “Not ever. And I won’t let you down, either. Not anymore. Not ever again.”  _

_ “If you wake up--if you remember--” _

_ “I want to,” Bucky promises softly. “I know I’m strong. I think--I think I’m strong enough to remember.”  _

_ Steve’s jaw clenches and relaxes. A single tear escapes his eye and runs hot down his cheek. Bucky’s eyes track it with a kind of horrified expression, something tinged with guit. “I  _ won’t  _ lose you again.” _

_ “If I know you here,” Bucky gestures to the dreamland, but the back of his hand also brushes his chest, above his heart, to give his words a double meaning, “Then I’ll know you anywhere.”  _

_ Steve didn’t know how true those words were. Hydra had it’s claws deep in Bucky, and of course it wasn’t his fault if he couldn’t remember..but he’d forgotten before. The theory that speaking here, in a dream, would make Bucky remember was just that--a theory.  _

_ Steve had no idea if this would work or not, and he didn’t think he was braced for the pain that he’d suffer if he woke up to Bucky regarding him as a stranger yet again.  _

_ “What about Hydra?” Steve is afraid to ask. “They want us both. You said--you said you wanted to take care of them without me--”  _

_ “Yeah, and look how that worked out for me. I hurt you,” Bucky shuddered, probably remembering the roughness of their encounter before they had met each other here. “Clearly, we’re stronger together.”  _

_ That’s what Steve had wanted to hear this whole time. “Together,” he echoes softly. “As a team.”  _

_ “I got your six, Stevie,” Bucky flashes a crooked smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His image flickers once, like TV with bad reception, and then comes back into view.  _

_ “You’re waking up,” Steve panics, tightening his grip on Bucky. “Wait, I’m not ready.”  _

_ Bucky presses his lips to Steve’s forehead. The fluorescent lights flicker, and disappear. Suddenly, they’re curled up together on the sandy beaches of Coney Island, with no one else around. The sky is dark, until suddenly, a bright firework explodes, showering blue, white, and red into the horizon.  _

_ “The fourth of July,” Steve remembers softly. “We always watched the fireworks.” _

_ “The whole country stopped, just for you, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs in his ear, his voice ringing with the old Brooklyn tang it used to. For a moment, Steve could let himself believe it was a simpler time, before guns became extensions of fingers, before nightmares plagued them every night--before the heartache and loss tore them to shreds. He was just a kid from Brooklyn, and he had his Alpha and this shower of fire. He would stumble home drunkenly with Bucky hanging on his waist, and they’d fall into bed together and find each other in their dreams. They’d never need to know a moment of loneliness. “Just to celebrate the day you were born.”  _

_ The scene flickers again. Steve’s fingers tighten on his mate. “It’s safe here,” Steve says desperately, suddenly eager to just stay as long as they could, in this quiet place where Bucky belonged only to himself and to Steve. “Don’t go, I-I don’t want--”  _

_ “I’ll see you on the other side, honey,” Bucky promises, pressing his nose to Steve’s temple. _

_ “Buck,” Steve swallows. “God, just please--please  _ know  _ me. I’m yours, and--” _

_ “End of the line, right?” Bucky murmurs, as his flickering becomes more apparent.  _

_ “Remember me,” Steve growls it out like a curse, crushing their lips together. “Just fuckin’ remember me, Buck--” _

_ Bucky flickers once more with a proud smile, and then he’s gone. Seconds later, the beach scene flickers as well, and then Steve’s own eyes open. _

The reality is much colder than the warm beaches of Bucky’s dreamland, where he’d been.

When Steve opens his eyes, Bucky is just beginning to stir under his hand. He blinks wildly to get his bearings. Sam and Natasha jump to their feet. 

“He’s waking up,” Natasha swallows. “Steve--does he--?”

“I don’t know,” Steve brushes his cool fingers along Bucky’s forehead, pushing his mate’s long hair out of the way of his eyes. He blinks up from Bucky’s face back to his friends, his mind still reeling from their encounter, the one that had felt so real his skin still buzzed with the electricity of Bucky’s touch. “I need to be alone with him, though. No matter what.” 

“What if he’s violent? No way in hell am I--”

“Sam,” Steve murmurs, as Bucky’s eyelids flutter. “Please. Just trust me. I’ll call leave the bug in until I know for sure I’m safe,” he gestures to the little comm in his ear. “It has to be me. No one else.”

With narrowed eyes, Natasha nods gravely and tugs Sam out of the room just as Bucky’s blue eyes open, locking on Steve’s face immediately. Even if there was anyone else in the room, Steve was sure Bucky wouldn’t have noticed; his gaze was only for his Omega. 

“Bucky,” Steve croons, his voice as feather-soft. He was afraid to say anything more, lest it disturb the way Bucky’s features were slowly drifting from confusion to recognition.

Bucky blinks a few times, and then pushes himself up into a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard of Steve’s bed. 

“Bucky?” Steve prompts gently, his voice hoarse. “Do you--do you remember?” 

Bucky’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he stares at Steve, studying his features, his eyes raking over the Omega. “Stevie,” he whispers, his metal hand sliding up Steve’s chest to cup the Omega’s face. Steve presses eagerly into the cool metal, the relief washing over him like a physical wave. “My Stevie.” 

“Y-yes,” Steve nods quickly. “I’ll always be yours, Buck,” he lets his forehead until it’s pressed against Bucky’s. Steve feels dizzy with the realization that his Alpha was  _ back.  _ “You remember.” 

“I remember, honey,” Bucky murmurs, “My sweet Omega, c’mere. I remember. You saved me, you did it.” 

Steve reaches up and takes the comm out of his ear, crushing it easily between his fingers. He didn’t need Sam and Nat. Bucky was himself, with his shining eyes and awed smile. Bucky was  _ back.  _

“ _ You  _ saved  _ me,”  _ Steve argues breathlessly, crushing their lips together. Bucky may not ever realize how close Steve was to giving up when they found each other again. He simply wasn’t whole without Bucky around...and he didn’t give a damn how unhealthy or how codependent that made him. Half of his soul was  _ Bucky,  _ and he needed the man like he needed air. 

Bucky kisses him back, turning Steve’s biting, hungry kisses into something gentle, something that feels less desperate and more like a promise. This wasn’t a frantic reunion, this was the beginning of something, of a future the world owed them after the heartaches they’d both suffered. 

Bucky’s lips were strong and soft, and they made promises against Steve’s skin, promises of sticking around, of letting Steve fight  _ with  _ him against Hydra. Equals. 

“You’re mine,” Bucky murmured against Steve’s lips, “Mine, again. Mine...always.” 

“Yes,” Steve agreed feverishly. His hands pressed against Bucky’s abdomen, tearing at his shirt until it ended up on the floor. He needed Bucky’s skin, to feel it against his own and let himself soak in the fact that this was not a dream, this was real. “And you’re  _ mine.  _ My Alpha.” 

Steve’s shirt was next, and when their bare chests pressed against one another, Steve sighed out with real relief. 

Bucky groaned into Steve’s chest and rolled them, so that he hovered on top of his Omega, pressing their bodies together, so that Steve could feel the heat radiating off of Bucky from head to toe.

“Claim me,” Steve tilts his head back, exposing the faint pink scar at the junction between his neck and shoulder, the perfect imprint of Bucky’s straight teeth. Bucky had claimed him twice already; once before the serum, and once afterwards, during the war, when the scar had faded and Steve had needed it to feel whole again. “And--and let me claim you.” 

Bucky pulled back, eyeing Steve with something like awe. “Steve,” he swallows, his eyes darting down to his left shoulder. Under his clothing, Steve knew it was a mess of scar tissue that fused with the metal plating of his arm. “It’s not--it won’t  _ look--” _

“I don’t give a damn how it  _ looks,”  _ Steve arms flex around Bucky, not letting him move. “It care about what it means. It means you’re mine, that we’re tied together. If…” his mouth goes suddenly dry, thinking of another reason Bucky might hesitate. “If you’re not sure, if you wanna wait--” 

Bucky laughs a little, and presses several kisses over Steve’s face, his jawline, his neck. “Silly Omega. I’m sure about you, honey,” he promises softly, the laughter fading out of his gaze as he stares down at Steve, his lips pressing together. “Are you sure about me?” 

Steve rolls his eyes at the ridiculous question. “Of  _ course  _ I’m--”

“No, don’t just..don’t just answer. Think about it,” Bucky pleads, his eyes searching Steve. “As I am now, with what my hands have done,” his hands grip Steve a bit harder at that, “And all of my...my baggage. We don’t have to rush this, Stevie, we could just be together for a bit. See how it goes.” 

Steve narrows his eyes. “You’re not a car, Buck, I don’t need to take you for a test drive. I know what I want, and it’s the same thing I’ve always wanted. You.” Steve had always belonged to Bucky, and Bucky to him, Mark or not. Steve just wanted to  _ see  _ the evidence of the Claim, to make it feel official. To make it feel  _ real. _

Bucky stares down at him in wonder for a few minutes, and then they’re kissing. “You always know the right thing to say,” he sighed softly against Steve’s lips, “Even if your metaphors are a bit funny.” 

“You don’t like being compared to a vehicle?” Steve giggled a little against Bucky’s hungry mouth. His heart felt impossibly light, and this, kissing and joking and laughing with Bucky..it felt so far away and so familiar all at once. He couldn’t believe that this was his future, that he had been lucky enough to earn the love of this gorgeous man not once, but twice in his life. This was their well deserved second chance. 

“Hmm,” Bucky murmured, pulling away for a second so he could rid Steve of his shirt. Steve knew that look in Bucky’s eyes, and he braced himself for a terrible pick up line, biting down on his bottom lip to keep from grinning before Bucky could spit it out. “Maybe. If that means you’re going to ride me--”

“Okay! Okay, jeez, just c’mere,” Steve is laughing as he pulls Bucky down to kiss him once again. 

Bucky rolls them gracefully so that Steve is on top--apparently, he was taking the  _ riding  _ thing and making it work. Steve didn’t mind. From this angle, he’d be able to see every expression cross Bucky’s face. 

He’d be able to see his mate Mark, the evidence that Bucky wasn’t going anywhere without Steve. One unit, SteveandBucky. 

“You saved me,” Bucky breathed against his lips, his hands tugging at Steve’s pants until they slid off, tossing them aside without caring where they ended up. 

Steve could have said the same thing to Bucky. He was in a dark place after losing his mate, and getting Bucky back brought back pieces of himself he’d once feared were gone forever. 

“You can’t ever leave me again,” Steve choked out, his own hands scrabbling at Bucky’s track pants (which were really his). Once they were both naked, Steve rolled his hips down to grind their cocks together, groaning at the sensation. 

His heat had just about passed by now, but there was still something desperate in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure if it could be attributed to heat, or if Bucky just had that effect on him. His skin suddenly burned with fire, with the need to be touched. 

“Likewise,” Bucky growls, his metal hand cupping the back of Steve’s head as he surges up into a sitting position, crushing their mouths together. Bucky’s mouth is hungry at first, kissing and biting at Steve’s lips until they are red and swollen, his hips rolling up into Steve’s just enough to make Steve’s hole wet and hungry.

Bucky’s mouth moves lower, along Steve’s jaw, nipping at his earlobe. At the same time, Bucky’s hand trails down Steve’s chest, gripping his aching cock with his flesh hand. 

“Mark me,” Steve pants, his hips jerking into Bucky’s hand as Bucky’s thumb slides over the head of his cock.

Bucky didn’t make Steve ask a second time. His teeth grazed down the length of Steve’s neck, still keeping a steady rhythm on Steve’s cock. Finally, his mouth settled on the old scar lines of Steve’s previous mark, Bucky’s teeth fitting over the scar perfectly. A shudder ran through Steve’s body. 

The scar had always been a particularly sensitive place, and it had always felt wrong when someone else accidentally touched it. Now, though, something in Steve broke open at the feeling of Bucky’s jaw settled against it. He wasn’t lost anymore--he belonged. 

“You’re mine,” Bucky whispers into Steve’s skin, like a religious man might whisper a prayer. “My Omega. My mate. Forever.” 

“All yours,” Steve replies, though it comes out as more of a moan. He tilts his head back, exposing his neck and giving Bucky more room. Bucky’s hips jerk at that--clearly, he enjoyed it when his Omega bared his throat. “Do it, Buck. Make it  _ hurt _ .” Steve wanted to feel it, now and for the next few days. His accelerated healing wouldn’t let him enjoy it for much longer than that, but he’d get to keep the scar. The proof that he belonged. 

Steve can feel Bucky’s lips pull back from his teeth in a quick flash of a predatory smile, before those white teeth sink into the old scar. Bucky’s hand twisted at the head of Steve’s cock, and Steve let out a sinful moan, his fingers knotting in Bucky’s hair to keep him there. 

“Harder,” Steve commands through clenched teeth. “I sad  _ mark me,  _ not nibble me--” 

Bucky lets out a soft puff of air through his nose that is something of a snort, and then his jaw clenches, the muscles jumping, as he breaks skin, leaving his imprint on Steve. 

A jolt of electricity ignites Steve’s bloodstream, and it was just how he remembered from the past two times. The pain of being Marked was such a delicious one, it shot right down to his groin and made his hole grasp helplessly around empty air. He didn’t care if it hurt, if he wasn’t opened… he was dripping wet with slick, and he needed Bucky inside him,  _ now.  _ He’d waited long enough.

He raised up slightly on Bucky’s lap, lining the head of Bucky’s cock with his tight hole. 

“Steve, wait, you’re not ready--” Bucky begins to protest, pulling away from Steve’s already healing mark. 

But Steve isn’t listening. He knows what he wants, and he knows what he can take. With a sigh of relief, he sinks down onto Bucky, his cock throbbing with pleasure as he takes his Alpha inside him, all the way down until he sits fully, languid and relaxed on Bucky’s lap. He lets out an obscene moan, throwing his head back in pleasure and exposing the long curve of his neck, illuminated by the moonlight that filtered in through the window. 

“Jesus  _ Christ,  _ sweetheart,” Bucky’s eyes fluttered to the back of his head for a moment, then his fingers were like steel vices, gripping Steve’s hips. “My gorgeous little Omega, hmm? So desperate, so good for me.” 

“Yours,” Steve echoes, his hole clenching around Bucky. Bucky moans, tilting his own head back, exposing the scarred skin of his left shoulder. “All yours, Alpha.”

“And I’m yours,” Bucky pants, “C’mon, honey. Wanna belong to you, too.” 

Steve grinned, not needing any further invitation than that. He swipes Bucky’s longish hair out of the way, and presses gentle kisses along the scar tissue, trying to concentrate as Bucky rolled his hips up into him. Steve remembered doing this the first time, the way Bucky had marvelled at it in the mirror afterwards. Steve knew how much having his mark meant to him, and he was going to do it right. 

He sinks his teeth into the flesh at the base of Bucky’s neck, where his shoulder met, before the metal of his arm joined with his flesh. At the same time, Steve’s hips jerked mercilessly. 

Bucky swore a fluent string of curses in Russian, only a few of which Steve recognized from his brief study of the language. His hands gripped Steve’s hips like vices, and while Steve was still on top of Bucky, relishing in the electricity that flowed openly between them, Bucky’s hips began to thrust from below him, taking over the rhythm that Steve had started and increasing the pressure on Steve’s prostate. 

“Bucky,” He gasped, pulling away. The pleasure was building low in his belly, his balls tightening with the growing sensation. A bit of blood welled up in the spot where Steve had bitten Bucky and he groaned at the sight of it, the proof that Bucky was tied to him so completely. “God, Buck--just like that, I--”

“You gonna come?” Bucky knew Steve’s body well, could probably tell from the helpless little moans that escaped Steve’s lips, from the way his needy hole clenched and unclenched around Bucky’s cock. “Come for me, honey,” He said, so softly it was nearly a coo. “Lemme make you feel good, Stevie, that’s it, sugar--” 

Steve couldn’t help but obey that honey-sweet voice. He tossed his head back, his legs beginning to shake--

“No,” Bucky commanded, his right hand grabbing Steve’s chin roughly, tugging Steve’s head forward, so their gazes locked. “I want to see you when you come for me,” Bucky growled. 

His words are what did it, and that fierce devotion written all over his face as he ground his hips up into Steve, only wanting to make Steve feel as good as possible and to see the reward of his efforts written on his Omega’s face. 

Steve came in white hot spurts across Bucky’s abdomen and chest, with his Alpha’s name on his swollen lips. His powerful thighs trembled under Bucky’s hands.

“ _ Bucky,”  _ Steve moans. “Fuck--”

“So fuckin’ perfect,” Bucky approved in a husky voice, as his own movements quickened, fucking Steve through his climax and also reaching eagerly for his own. Steve could tell by the set of Bucky’s brow that his Alpha wasn’t far behind him. 

“Knot me,” Steve pleaded, his hands scrabbling at Bucky’s chest. His cock was still hard as he rocked down onto Bucky, meeting his every thrust, their skin meeting with a loud slap each time. “Please, Bucky--” 

Bucky surged up, crashing his mouth into Steve’s, just as hips raised high off of the bed, taking Steve with him. Steve could feel Bucky’s cock jerk inside him, his knot swelling to stretch Steve’s hole. Bucky’s hips twitched against Steve, panting into his Omega’s mouth as he did. 

“Stevie,” Bucky breathed, sagging back down against the mattress. “Fuckin’ perfect little Omega.” 

Steve could feel Bucky buried deep, and it was a comfortable, safe feeling, to know that they were tied together in every way possible at that very moment, both their Marks fresh and sore. 

He sagged against Bucky, lying on top of him with the Alpha still tucked deep in his ass. He pressed his face into Bucky’s right shoulder, letting out a satisfied sigh. 

“Gorgeous, honey,” Bucky murmured, his fingertips trailing light patterns up and down Steve’s spine, as they both caught their breath. “And all mine.” 

The words made Steve preen just a little. The moonlight made everything in the room seem soft and blue-ish, and he felt impossibly safe. 

There were threats that loomed outside the window of his apartment, and there were people who would give their lives to see the two split apart once again...but none of that mattered. They were stronger together, Steve and Bucky, and they’d face each battle and win the war. 

“I love you,” Steve yawned into Bucky’s skin. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was, how desperately his body craved sleep, now that he felt safe enough to do so. 

He felt Bucky’s lips in his hair. “I love you, Stevie. Always.” 

_ Always.  _ It was such a beautiful word. A future stretched out before them, of laughter and hot coffee and cool nights spent under the covers.  _ Always.  _

“Yes,” Steve’s eyes fluttered shut. He was safe, here, and loved. He would protect Bucky’s heart. Sleep began to take him. “S’you and me, Buck. Always.” Unconsciousness found him easily, with a warm tug, and Steve went willingly into the land of the sleeping. 

He would find Bucky there shortly, in his dreams, on the Coney Island beaches. They watched the fourth of July fireworks and held hands. They didn’t have to talk about the gaps in Bucky’s memory or the looming threat of Hydra. 

That night, there was only the two of them and the love that brought them both back to life, not unlike the very fireworks lighting up the dark New York sky. 

_ With great bursts of color, with Bucky’s calloused hands in his, Steve closed his eyes and thought, perhaps, that God was indeed out there, as his Ma had so believed. God was out there, and was granting wishes to broken souls like his. That was the only thing that could explain how he had gotten so unbelievably lucky.  _

_ “What are you thinking about?” Bucky had asked, a long finger stroking Steve’s cheek thoughtfully.  _

_ Steve leaned into the touch, and smiled ruefully. “You,” He replied, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s palm. “The answer is always you, Buck.”  _

Always. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU all for your amazing support in the form of kudos/comments/bookmarks. I am undeserving but so, so grateful. 
> 
> If you're interested in an epilogue, let me know, and I can definitely whip something up....beyond that , I am on tumblr at wincestplease, and would love to take requests/prompts for stucky fics :) 
> 
> I hope you have a lovely sleep tonight, and that your heart finds the peace it deserves. 
> 
> with love,  
> Lacuna <3


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ENDING ending. For real this time. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You asked, I obliged!!!!!!! These boys definitely deserved for their ending to be wrapped up properly; please enjoy this epilogue :)   
> thank you to everyone who followed this work as a WIP, to those who left their kudos/comments. You have been so wonderful to me 💘

_Kiss me once_   
_Then, kiss me twice_   
_Then, kiss me once again_   
_It's been a long, long time_

_Haven't felt like this, my dear_   
_Since can't remember when_   
_It's been a long, long time_

_You'll never know_   
_How many dreams I dream about you_   
_Or just how empty they all seem without you_

_So, kiss me once_   
_Then, kiss me twice_   
_Kiss me once again_   
_It's been a long, long time_

**- _It's been a long, long time_ , Henry James**

* * *

“Steve?” Bucky whispered into his comm, rounding corner after corner, his heart in his throat and his gun gripped in his hand. 

No reply. 

His comm crackled with static, and Bucky held his breath, thinking that perhaps it was Steve, signalling for help. He waited, but there wasn’t any further reply. Only silence. 

The Hydra base had been well guarded, prepared for an ambush, maybe, but not one of the magnitude the Avengers launched. The base was expecting Bucky, he guessed, and maybe Steve, at most. 

They had to have been prepared for him. They would have seen all the other Hydra bases, warehouses, and safe houses that Bucky and Steve had picked off before making their way to this final resting place of Hydra. 

They had to know what was in store for them, hellfire with little mercy at the hands of the Asset they created and his better half. 

Still, even with that knowledge, those that were left of Hydra, who hadn’t killed themselves to save the presumed torture they thought awaited them with the Asset’s visit, were woefully under-skilled compared to that of the Avengers.

It had been simple enough, picking them off. Even if Bucky and the rest of the team sustained a few blows, it was nothing that wouldn’t heal in a few days. 

Nothing that Steve couldn’t have walked off--so where  _ was _ he? And why wasn’t he answering? 

Steve had been on missions with Bucky before. There had been hundreds of Hydra bases they’d shut down, one after the other, sometimes just the two of them, sometimes with the entire team. Steve  _ always  _ replied on his comm, even if he was in the middle of getting his ass kicked. 

And yet, now there was only silence. Bucky’s heart picked up, his right palm getting clammy with worry. This couldn’t be happening now, when they were so close to the finish line, just an angel’s hair breadth away from  _ real  _ freedom. 

_ “ _ Steve,” Bucky repeated, his voice more urgent. He passed another corridor and found a dead Hydra agent sprawled on the floor. Bucky squinted at the body. There was a pool of blood growing out of the wound, fresh. Based on the cleanliness of the blunt trauma, it looked like Steve’s work. He never liked to prolong pain if he didn’t have to, no matter how evil the victim, how deserving. 

He’d been going this way, then. That had to be a good sign. Bucky kept walking, readjusting his hand on his gun. “Does anyone have eyes on Rogers?” 

“Negative,” Natasha chimed, her voice unworried and relaxed. There was a sound in the background, like maybe she was typing. Gathering intel, most likely, before they burnt the place to the ground. “Thought he was with you.” 

“He was,” Bucky hissed. A Hydra agent rounded the corner and fired a shot at Bucky, but he was too fast, ducking out of the way and grabbing the gun with his left hand, crushing the metal between his fingers. He grabbed the man’s neck and slammed him into the concrete wall unforgivingly. 

He didn’t look into the man’s eyes as he did it; Bucky was focused only on Steve. He had to find his Omega. 

They’d been together the whole time, until they’d split up to clear separate wings of the building. Bucky always got a bad feeling in his gut when they split up on missions, but it was always fine. Steve could handle himself, as could Bucky. 

But maybe he should have trusted his gut. 

Bucky kept trekking his way through the base. “Clear,” He muttered after every room, his panic growing, making his chest tighter. “No sign of him.”

“Everything is clear on my end, too,” Barton piped in, “No one has exited the building,” He paused a beat. “Well. Not alive, anyway.” 

“Same here,” Wilson agreed, sounding relieved. Bucky hears the great rush of wind that told him Sam was patrolling overhead. A literal birds-eye view. “We’re getting champagne after this one. The  _ nice  _ stuff.” 

“On me, I presume?” Stark chortled. 

“And some crab would be nice too,” Romanoff mused, “Steak, medium rare...escargot...” 

Bucky couldn’t let himself be entertained by his team’s banter. 

They didn’t seem to be worried about where Steve had wandered off to, but Bucky knew it wasn’t like Steve to ignore his coms, to wander off on his own. He knew Bucky would worry too much, he wouldn’t do that to his Alpha.

“Steve,” Bucky tries again, his voice raspy from the panic. He was sure that the rest of the team could detect Bucky losing his cool. “ _ Rogers _ , come in.” 

“His comm was probably damaged, Barnes. Happens all the time.” Natasha’s voice was smooth and confident, but he knew her well enough to detect just the barest hint of worry. She was wondering where Steve was, too. “He’ll turn up. We’ve already killed all the major players, there isn’t anyone left that Steve wouldn’t be able to handle.”

Bucky knew she was right, on the surface. Steve  _ should  _ be able to handle himself...but what if something had gone wrong? So many things could go wrong. Accidents, miscalculations. Slip ups, surprises. 

“I’m outside. Cleared the West Wing,” Clint confirmed. “I’ll do another scan of the perimeter, see if Cap got out--maybe I missed him.” 

“Thanks,” Bucky choked out. He could only imagine the worst-case scenario as he stalked the halls. He had almost cleared the entire North wing of the base, and winding down the familiar hallways made his chest tight with the memories and panic for Steve. 

What if they captured Steve? What if they put him through the same horrors that they’d subjected Bucky to? 

He knew how badly Hydra wanted to get their hands on Steve, wanted to get him in a chair and wipe him clean so that they could make a weapon of his Omega, turn his gentle hands into something meant for killing.

If Hydra was scared of dying out, being stomped out for good--wouldn’t Captain America as their newest Asset give them the power they needed to get back on their feet, and reestablish themselves? 

A shudder ran down Bucky’s spine.  _ No.  _

Bucky remembered these halls--to the left was where he trained, the padded room where he’d thrown Hydra agents mercilessly against the walls, where he’d snapped their necks while his handlers watched proudly, giving him the odd murmur of approval.

If a competent enough handler or operative managed to get Steve alone, they wouldn’t wait to alert the others. They’d be sneaky about it, they’d tranquilize him and drag him away. 

_ Steve was too smart for that,  _ the rational part of Bucky’s brain argued,  _ he wouldn’t let himself get caught like that.  _

But as smart as Steve was, he was also reckless when it came to his own safety. He put himself in dangerous situations all the time. 

Down the hall, to the right, was where Bucky was hosed down and prepared for cryo. The tank was probably still in there, empty--but Bucky tried not to look, beyond peeking in the space to see if there were any straggler operatives or if Steve had found his way in there. He didn’t want to remember the Cold right now, couldn’t afford the distraction of being dragged away in a memory. 

“Steve, please,” Bucky cursed, too quiet for the comm to pick up. It was more of a prayer than a real call for help. The professional air he liked to keep up during missions slipped away, as his Brooklyn accent crept back in along with the panic. “C’mon, punk, where the hell are--”

Bucky stopped short, frozen in the doorway of the room at the very end of the North wing. In the center of the cold concrete room was a black chair, the buckles worn and rusted, bent out of shape from being fought against, a tall machine meant to wipe the Asset of all his humanity sat beside it, lifeless and silent. 

Steve was frozen, his back to Bucky, staring at the chair with his hands balled up in fists, a visible tremor wracking through his body. 

The shield was strapped to his back, and he appeared uninjured. Something in Bucky’s chest relaxed, slightly. Steve was alive, seemingly unhurt. He was okay. 

“Stevie?” Bucky murmured, his voice soft. This isn’t where he’d expected to find Steve, but he supposed after unintentionally dragging Steve to this very room in many of their shared dreams, Bucky should have known that this place would resonate with Steve. He should have been prepared--he knew where they kept the chair. He should have gone himself, not let Steve seen the place of both their nightmares. 

It certainly sent a chill down Bucky’s spine, being back here. He wasn’t immune to the terrors of it, either, though perhaps he was better prepared. He had been there before, after all. Knew what to expect. 

Steve hadn’t. Didn’t. 

“You got eyes on Rogers?” Natasha interrupted Bucky’s panic. “Is he safe?” 

“Steve--are you injured?” Bucky asked gently, needing to know for sure before he lowered the alarm. He was pretty sure he knew the kind of pain Steve was feeling, and it wasn’t anything caused by a knife or bullet. “Stevie?” 

Steve didn’t turn around. He didn’t acknowledge Bucky at all. 

“Doesn’t appear hurt,” Bucky murmurs into the comm. There was no blood seeping through Steve’s uniform, and with his advanced healing, any injury that was immediately apparently like a missing limb or shot to a vital artery resulting in extreme blood loss wouldn’t be fatal. He’d be okay. They would make it out. “He’s--” 

That’s when Steve advances on the chair.

He stalks up to it with an aggression in his body that Bucky had never seen before. Steve was always a graceful fighter, landing lightly on his toes, maintaining his composure and balance even in the most personal of fights. 

But now there was nothing graceful or rational about the way Steve approached the chair. Bucky watched as the man he loved, his Omega, ripped into the chair with animal-like aggression. It was the kind of movement of a raw, broken-open man. It made Steve look like a stranger to Bucky.

He tore the straps first, the restraints that would have secured Bucky to the device. Then he grabbed the shield, hitch securely on his back, and came down hard on the programming mechanism beside the chair. It sparked and sputtered, the lights going out of it. 

“You’ll never have him again,” Bucky could hear Steve saying--sobbing, under his breath. His voice broke as he spoke. “Never.  _ Never _ \--”

“Barnes,” Wilson’s voice is urgent. “What the hell is going on in there? Another operative? We’re coming in for back up--”

“No one’s here, I just. He needs me--just me. Give me a few,” Bucky swallows, turning off his comm with a soft press to the back of it. Bucky let out a soft breath, his heart breaking, seeing Steve in this much pain.

“Stevie,” Bucky keeps his voice gentle, “Hey, doll. Can you look at me?” 

Steve crashed his shield into the computer, into the head brace that bore into Bucky’s skull. He tossed the shield aside and used his hands to rip it apart viciously, tossing the bits of it aside. 

Bucky let him. He could see the tired shaking of Steve’s shoulders, the way his body was letting itself give in to the anger, the hurt. 

Steve needed this, and--seeing the chair destroyed, seeing it unable to ever do to Bucky again the very thing that made him lose Steve….it was good for Bucky, too. He needed it just as much.

When the chair and all its parts are in crushed bits on the floor, well beyond saving, Steve produces a lighter from his pocket and drops it down into the pile. It takes a while for the chair to catch, but it does, and burns brightly, crackling and popping. 

“Okay, honey,” Bucky steps closer. His face is wet--is he crying? He hadn’t noticed. He doesn’t wipe away the tears; his hands were for Steve, for Steve’s comfort. “Okay, Stevie. C’mon, sweetheart, it’s done. It’s done.” 

Steve turns to him slowly, and Bucky is struck when he meets those round blue eyes. For such a large man, for a man with a body capable of such destruction, who was incredibly skilled and well trained, Steve looked oddly childlike. Oddly young. Innocent. 

He always looked like that when he was hurt, Bucky thought. He felt things so openly, so plainly. He never felt the need to hide his emotions, he let them in, let them ruin him, sometimes. He felt everything tenfold. 

He had felt Bucky’s pain, Bucky’s fear, on top of his own worry and guilt. 

Destroying that chair, Bucky knew, was just as much for  _ him _ as it was for Steve’s own peace of mind. 

“I know,” Bucky nods, when Steve’s split lip parts helplessly. It’s trembling, too slight for anyone who didn’t know that stubborn mouth the way Bucky knew it. The beds of Steve’s fingernails are torn and bleeding from digging into the machinery and mechanisms of the chair and tearing it open. The blood runs down his hands. Bucky grabs Steve’s hands, brings Steve’s bruised knuckles to his lips, and kisses them. “I know, Stevie. Come here. It’s done.” 

He opens his arms, and the next thing he knows Steve is falling into them, pressing his nose to Bucky’s neck and letting out terrible, wretched sobs that shake his body. 

Bucky’s chest is shaking too, and he hadn’t realized those choked, broken sounds were coming not only from Steve, but from himself, too.

“We’re okay, now,” Steve sobbed, “We’re okay. It’s over.” 

It maybe wasn’t  _ over,  _ exactly, but this had been the last major Hydra base, the rest were small safehouses with stragglers and cowards who wouldn’t be able to re organize before the Avengers picked them off, one by one. 

They had the Soldier’s notebook, the phrases that made Bucky the Asset. Stark was working on a therapy treatment that would completely erase their effect on Bucky’s brain, and it looked promising. 

He had a new metal arm, much lighter and more agile than the one Hydra had fitted him with, and he had Steve, and a team that he trusted in battle, and who trusted him. And--he had Steve. He had Steve, and would always have him. 

“It’s over,” Bucky rasped into Steve’s hair. The heartbreak feeling in his chest turned into something lighter, something that didn’t sting quite as much, as Steve took shuddering breaths, trying to calm himself down. 

With the base destroyed, they could begin to heal. Bucky pressed his cheek into Steve’s hair.

The government had excused his actions as the Winter Soldier when Steve fought tooth and nail to prove that Bucky’s actions weren’t of his own volition. 

The trial had been long and ugly, but they’d walked out of the courtroom hand and hand, with Bucky a free man. He’d joined the Avengers that day. 

He didn’t belong anywhere if he didn’t belong by Steve’s side, fighting with him, watching his six. 

He wasn’t a fugitive. He wasn’t a soldier who’d deserted. 

He was Steve’s Alpha, his protector, his best friend, his partner. 

He knew his place in the world. He didn’t ever have to question that again. 

“It’s done,” Bucky pressed Steve into his chest as if he could physically connect the two of them, merge them into one unit. 

“We can go home,” Steve choked, his fingers turning into claws at Bucky’s back, not letting Bucky move an inch. Bucky can’t see Steve’s face at this angle, but he’s pretty sure Steve is smiling softly, sadly, into Bucky’s neck. “Finally. Finally--it’s done.” 

*

Sam found them like that, twenty minutes later, wrapped in each other’s arms. Steve and Bucky had sunk to the floor by the time Sam had finally gone inside to see what the hold up was. 

Steve had curled himself up somehow to fit in Bucky’s embrace, and Bucky held him tightly. 

Sam was a beta--he couldn’t really understand the draw between an Alpha and Omega--but he was sure that their bond, Steve and Bucky’s, far exceeded the bounds of biological attraction. 

What they had, Sam had never seen it before. To see nothing but pure love and devotion written on Bucky’s face as he looks at Steve, or Steve’s as he watches Bucky, as he fought tooth and nail to get him back...none of the movies or books or poems could ever get it right. 

Sam didn’t understand it himself, but he sure liked seeing that dopey smile on Steve’s face, the one only Bucky seemed to be able to put there. 

“Guys,” Sam clears his throat, looking away. There was some kind of fire burning just beyond the two, like the remains of some computer crackling and melting away. Sam knew better than to ask what it was right now. “Jet’s waiting. You, uh--you ready?” 

Sam wasn’t going to pretend to understand what was going on. He knew only that Hydra’s past and Bucky’s past were deeply intertwined. It only made sense that destroying the last major Hydra base would be an emotional experience for both him and Steve.

Steve peeled himself away from Bucky reluctantly, like organs leaving their host body. He shuddered visibly as he got to his feet, tugging Bucky up with him. 

Bucky murmured something to Steve, too low for Sam to pick up, and brushed something off of Steve’s cheek with his flesh hand in a tender motion. A tear? 

Whatever Bucky had said made the devastated look fade from Steve’s eyes, and he smiled. 

Sam could only watch, baffled, as Steve went from utter despair, to biting his lip, fighting back laughter. He turned over his shoulder and stared at the fire. 

“Is there something on my face?” Sam cocked a brow as Steve snorted. Barnes was smiling, too, but it was one of those rare smiles he saved only for Steve. It looked strange on Barnes’ face, too soft and kind for his usually frowning features. Was this how he always looked to Steve? 

Sam knew the snarky Barnes, the one who scowled at sunshine and put plastic wrap on the toilet seat in Sam’s apartment to prank him. 

But this one? This Barnes was  _ happy.  _ Relief radiated out of him, and it made his face look a lot younger. 

For a moment, Sam can imagine the two of them in the war, getting each other through the hardest times, laughing and fighting and holding each other tight. He blinks, and the vision disappears.

“It’s over,” Steve said simply, by way of explanation. When Sam gave him a quizzical look, he gestured to the warehouse, to the burning pile of rubbish. He looks strangely at peace. “All of it.” 

Sam understood, then. He offered a crooked smile in return. 

“You’re damn right it is,” He clapped his hands together, pressing his comm with a mischievous grin. “Already, Stark. Can we get that champagne already? Don’t you have a robot for that or something?” 

“JARVIS is offended,” Stark retorted into his ear, and Sam threw his head back in a full-body laugh as he led Steve and Barnes out of the building, where the others were waiting. 

Nat looked visibly relieved when they emerged, and Sam bumped their shoulders together by way of reassurance. He knew she worried more than she let on. 

They piled into the jet casually, all of them sharing giddy looks, a sense of accomplishment in the air, almost a tangible thing. After the losses and struggles they’d had trying to tear Hydra apart, this last, final victory, was a sweet one. 

“Ready for take off,” Tony yawned, stretching as the Iron Man suit peeled away from him a quick flurry of mechanical movements. He rolled his shoulders back. “Let’s go home, people.” 

“Our lobster awaits,” Clint agreed, kicking up his feet. 

“Thought it was crab?” Natasha plopped down gracefully into one of the leather recliners. 

“Let’s do both,” Sam grinned, as the jet hovered above the ground, steadily climbing into the air, the building getting smaller and smaller. “We just took out the Nazi organization that has been terrorizing the world since my grandfather walked the earth, and they didn’t even get one good shot in. That’s gotta be something worth lobster  _ and  _ crab. And champagne. Somewhere fancy, I got this new velvet suit I’ve been dying to wear--” 

“Hey,” Sam is pretty sure he hears Steve protest weakly. “You callin’ us old?” 

“At least we have fashion sense,” Barnes snorts to Steve, nudging him and waggling his eyebrows. “Which is clearly not for everyone--you wouldn’t catch  _ me  _ dead in a velvet suit.” 

“Right,” Steve agreed with a soft laugh. “Never.”

“You  _ tuck  _ in your shirts! To your  _ khaki  _ pants!” Sam threw his hands up in the air. Was there no justice in the world? “You’re one to talk!” 

“Okay, people, focus,” Tony cracked his neck, his eyes light. He clicked a few buttons on the control panel and the jet hovered steadily by itself, maintaining a position. Tony looked out the window, and then back to the team. “We ready?” 

“ _ Hell  _ yeah!” Sam jumped up, peeking over Clint’s shoulder to get a good view out the window, the easy bickering forgotten. The Hydra base was below them, but wouldn’t be for much longer. 

“Can I do the honors?” Barnes’ jaw tightened, as if he was expecting Tony to say no. 

But no one could deny that Barnes had a right to see the warehouse go up in flames more than any of them. It should be him.

“Light ‘er up, boss,” Tony held out the little red button, encased in glass all villain-style, as an offering to Barnes. 

Barnes turned to Steve first, as if looking for reassurance. Sam couldn’t see, exactly, but Steve mouthed something to Barnes, that could have either been  _ finish it,  _ or  _ fuck this shit.  _ Either one would have been appropriate, really. 

“Okay,” Barnes takes a steadying breath, accepting the button, holding it in his right hand, and opening the glass casing with his left one. “Here we go--”

“Drumroll, please,” Tony purred, in true Tony-fashion. Sam and Clint patted their palms against their thighs obligingly for a drumroll-like effect. 

Natasha rolled her eyes, but she was biting her lip to hide a pleased smile.

“Three,” Barnes murmured, “Two,” 

Sam noticed that Steve’s fingers were hooked casually into the loophole of Bucky’s uniform. For some reason, that casual touch made something in Sam’s heart squeeze. 

To see Steve so happy after being so heartbroken--it was Sam’s favorite thing. 

“One,” Bucky swallows, and his left hand pushes the button triggering the multiple bombs the Avengers had placed in the respective wings of the base. Just like that, the base went up in a flurry of explosions, red and orange flames licking their way into the sky. 

Just like that, the metal hand that Hydra had created, had been the very cause of their destruction. 

“Now,” Steve rested his chin on Bucky’s shoulder, the light of the explosion reflecting in his eyes as Tony pulled the jet away from the shambles, “Now it’s done.” 

**

“And  _ then,  _ I was all like--pow! Bam, bam,  _ bam _ ! And I was too fast, you know, for them to catch me? So then this dude--and he’s in  _ full gear,  _ okay, totally done up--he pulls out the biggest gun I’ve ever seen. But do I panic? Hell no, I’m the mother-fucking- _ Falcon,  _ baby, so I just-- _ wham!  _ Pow! Just like that. You know?” Sam gave Steve a gap-toothed grin, and shrugged in fake nonchalance. “Taught them not to mess with me, that’s all.” 

“I’m sure you did,” Steve chuckles, tapping his beer lightly to Sam’s. “That’s awesome, Sam.”

“Hey,” Sam murmurs, his face and voice morphing into something more serious, those his toothy smile remained. Steve always thought that if sunshine were a person, that person would be Sam Wilson. “It’s really nice, man.” 

Steve frowned, not sure what Sam had meant. Was he talking about the animated story he’d been telling Steve about his last run in with a Hydra agent who thought he stood a chance. “What is? Seeing me drink?” He arched a brow at the beer he was nursing. “Doesn’t do anything to me, but the taste is comforting. Reminds me of the  _ olden days,  _ as you’d put it.” 

“Well,  _ that,”  _ Sam nods to the beer, smiling warmly, and then shaking his head. “But no, I. I meant...it’s nice to see you so happy.” 

The honesty and kindness in the response makes Steve blank. On a night of rousing laughter and drinking, celebrating the destruction of the last Hydra base, Steve hadn’t expected such a genuine comment. 

He blinks at Sam, not sure how to respond. His mouth opens, and then shuts again. 

“When I met you, you had already lost him, you know?” Sam looked down at his drink, something haunted crossing his face. “You were so...hollow. Even when you were happy, it was like something was always missing.”

“Something was,” Steve sighed wistfully, remembering with a shudder his weeks and months after waking up after the ice. 

Everyone had acted like Bucky Barnes was a name long forgotten, that he’d died so many years ago, that the pain of losing him should be healed over. 

But to Steve...he’d seen his Alpha just a week or so before going under. When they’d woken him up, Steve was still mourning. He never stopped mourning, not until that evening when Bucky woke up in his arms and knew his name, knew his heart. 

Sam nods, but not in a way that said  _ I understand,  _ but in a way that said  _ I’m listening.  _ Sam didn’t ever pretend to know Steve’s unique experiences, only to listen to them, to empathize the best he could without ever making Steve feel like Sam was misconstruing or smoothing over whatever he was trying to get across. 

“I know that now--seeing the difference in now and then. Snd I guess it’s just, it’s really nice to see  _ you,  _ how you really are. When you’re whole.” 

Steve gives a bashful shrug, unsure how to respond to the observation. “I don’t know. It’s terribly cliche, but he just--”

“Dude, please don’t say  _ he completes me,  _ right now, ‘cause honestly, I am  _ not  _ drunk enough for that. Just let us have this moment, okay?” Sam mutters, but the warm look in his eyes makes the words feather-light. 

“You got it,” Steve chuckles, extremely grateful to have someone like Sam around, someone with such kind eyes. “Cheers.” 

Sam bumps their bottles together once more. 

“Drinkin’ without me, Stevie?” Bucky’s voice startles Steve, coming from behind him. “What a lush, you are.” 

Steve snorted at that, sensing the sarcasm in Bucky’s words. Steve used to hate the taste of alcohol when it could get him drunk, and now that it couldn’t the bitter taste reminded him of cheap beer Bucky would splurge on at dancing halls, when they’d twirl around the dance floor laughing and stumbling, when Bucky would poke Steve in the ribs for each time the clumsy blond tripped over his own feet and Bucky’s. 

“You’re one to talk, Barnes--is that whiskey?” Sam’s brow arched. “You should be careful, old man. Don’t push yourself too hard to keep up with the young folk.” Sam thumped Bucky affectionately on the shoulder.

A few months ago, such a touch might have made Bucky stiffen. He might have shut down completely, and on his bad days--he may have reacted violently, seeing the action as a threat to either him or Steve. 

Now, though, Bucky only gave Sam a boyish grin and shoved him back. “Respect your damn elders, son.” 

Steve rolled his eyes at that. Sam and Bucky had a special kind of friendship that Steve didn’t want to try to understand. Half of the time it seemed like they couldn’t stand to be in the same room as the other, with Sam trying to sneak Nair into Bucky’s shampoo and Bucky putting superglue in Sam’s hand sanitizer. 

The other half of the time, they were like this, throwing around harmless insults and chuckling. 

A relationship, Steve realized, that wasn’t unlike brotherhood. 

The thought made him smile to himself, and he’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t realized Bucky had been trying to get his attention, sliding his arms around Steve’s neck. 

“Dance with me,” Bucky’s hot breath washed over Steve as he whispered in the Omega’s ear.

Steve was startled by that request, looking around with a baffled expression. 

There was a soft classical score being drawn out by a violinist and pianist in the corner of the expensive restaurant Stark had rented out just for the team and a few of Stark industries closest friends, but there wasn’t anyone dancing. There wasn’t even really a dance floor. 

When Steve pointed out the above flaws in Bucky’s plan Bucky only rolled his eyes and tugged Steve to his feet. 

“No dancefloor?” Bucky sighed, “Well--what to do about that--” he grinned dangerously before shoving a few smaller tables aside, clearing a smallish space for them. “No one is dancing?” Bucky began to dance, making an empty cradle for an imaginary dance partner in his arms, and slipping easily into a slow waltz that matched the pace of the music perfectly. 

On anyone else, the gesture may have looked drunken, stupid, or embarressing. On Bucky, it just looked--heartbreakingly romantic, really. 

“You ain’t gonna make me dance alone, are you, sweetheart?” Bucky crooned, in his thickest Brooklyn accent. “I know you ain’t that cruel.” 

As much as Steve  _ wasn’t  _ a dancer, he couldn’t help but melt a little by the blissed out expression on Bucky’s face. Bucky had always loved dancing, and seeing that part of him come out again after so long...Steve couldn’t resist. 

With a put-upon sigh that was mostly for performance’s sake, he caught Bucky as he turned and slid into the open invitation of his Alpha’s arms. 

“There you are,” Bucky murmured, low in his ear, as if he’d been waiting for Steve to join him for a thousand years. He kept his hands dangerously low on Steve’s hips, lower than what would have been appropriate in their day. Steve’s heart sped up as he pressed into Bucky. 

Even if dancing wasn’t his thing, per say, the serum made most of what he did pretty graceful, and Bucky’s body was a familiar one. They fit together well, and he let Bucky guide him in a small circle. 

They’d danced like this before, when Steve was a lot smaller and more clumsy, twirling around some dance hall all night long. Bucky had been patient with him, trying to teach him to listen to the music and to let him lead as they twirled, but Steve hadn’t been an easy student. 

“Relax,” Bucky chuckled softly, pressing his cheek to Steve’s. “You’re so tense.” 

“Everyone is looking at us,” Steve muttered, feeling the blood rush to his face as he noticed that that musicians had noticed them dancing and had changed the tempo of their song from something formal into something with real feeling, a sadness, an aching come into the atmosphere of the song as they played. 

“So,” Bucky dipped Steve low, to Steve’s surprise, holding him there with no sign of struggle, supporting his weight easily. “Let’s give them something to look at.” He pressed his lips to Steve’s shocked ones, kissed Steve deeply and passionately, leaving him gasping for air when he pulled back, taking Steve up with him. 

“Buck,” Steve blinked, but he was grinning. Kissing Bucky had that effect on Steve. Steve wasn’t really paying attention, but he was pretty sure that someone, a male voice--maybe Sam or Tony or Clint--had started whooping excitedly in the background, as if they were at a sporting event and the team had just gotten a goal. 

Bucky just tugged him close, pressing their cheeks together again and twirling them easily around the makeshift dance floor as if nothing else in the world mattered. 

And, Steve realized, for once, it didn’t. 

For once, there was no overarching sense of doom coloring their happy moments. He was just.. _ happy _ , without any sense of impending loss or ache. 

“This brings me back,” Bucky sighed happily, “Do you remember?” 

Steve blinks, the memory dancing behind his eyelids. “Of course I remember. You dragging me to all those goddamn dance halls, keepin me up all night trying to teach me how to do the latest jig--”

“You were so damn clumsy,” Bucky giggled, “You--you had two left feet. Didn’t have a prayer of looking suave on the dance floor.” 

“Jerk,” Steve scowled, but the scowl lost its effect when his smile couldn’t be held off long enough to maintain it. 

“We made it,” Bucky said suddenly, his arms flexing around Steve. “We actually, really made it.” 

The weight of Bucky’s words nearly knocked the breath out of Steve. The violin was long and sad, swelling around them as the realization hit that they had  _ made it.  _

After everything, after the Great Depression, after the Great War, after the ice, and after Hydra...they had made it back into each other’s arms, back to the music and the slow sway of their bodies. Back to safety. Back to love. 

“What do we do now, if we’re not killing Nazis?” Steve breathed, only half-joking. 

Bucky’s fingers clasped Steve’s hand and guided him into a gentle twirl, as if he was showing off his Omega for the entire room to see. Based on the proud look on Bucky’s face, Steve wasn’t convinced that Bucky  _ wasn’t  _ doing just that. 

“We go on dates,” Bucky tugged Steve back to his chest, “And we make pancakes on Sunday mornings,” He brushed his finger to Steve’s cheekbone, following the line of it, “And we gear up when the world needs us, we fight the battles we need to fight and then we come home and...be. Be together.”

Bucky’s words painted a bright future for the two of them behind Steve’s eyelids as he closed his eyes and relaxed against Bucky. 

The music held the two of them in a cradle, and Steve didn’t care if everyone in the room had stopped their conversations to stare at them. 

He felt invisible in the best way possible, all of their curious gazes melting away. It wasn’t their fault they were so intrigued; they didn’t know what it was like to be loved by Bucky Barnes. Of course they’d be curious. It was a phenomenon only Steve had ever known.

“You still gonna love me when I go grey?” Steve sighed blissfully. There was a time when he never thought he’d get there with Bucky, when growing old together was a fantasy that he fell asleep aching for. 

“ _ When?”  _ Bucky snorted, tugging at Steve’s blond locks. “It’s a little too late for that, Ace.” 

Now, that fantasy was a reality. A beautiful stretch of lifetime, with his soulmate. More time than anyone ever got. More chances than anyone ever got at love. 

“There was a time I never thought I’d live long enough to get grey hair,” Steve mused gently. 

“I never thought I’d laugh enough to get smile lines,” Bucky pressed a soft peck to Steve’s forehead, to each of his cheeks. “But here we are.”

_ Here they were.  _ Laughter lines, grey hair. They were coming, slowly, and Steve would get to calculate the changes on Bucky’s face as the years went.  _ A gift. _

Bucky lifted his head, and Steve thought he felt him nod to Tony, but he couldn’t have been sure. A few moments later, the musical score drifted into something familiar.

“Kiss me once,” Bucky sang in a soft voice, “then kiss me twice--” 

Steve started, the tune finally clicking into place, his lips parting in surprise. It had been so long since he’d heard the familiar set of chords. 

“Our song,” He blurted, before he could say anything else. “You remember?” 

“You loved this song,” Bucky smiled, his eyes full of adoration, caught somewhere between the present moment, and a memory of a smaller Steve, twirling clumsily around the kitchen, singing this song to himself while he cooked dinner. “We danced to it almost every night.” 

“I sang it to you when you couldn’t sleep, after I got you away from Hydra, during the war,” Steve swallowed, “To block out the sound of bullets.” 

“You’ll never know how many dreams I’ve dreamed about you,” Bucky sang low in his ear, his voice adding an intimate type of tenderness to the words, along with the slow violin, “Or just how empty they all seemed without you.” 

How perfect a moment it was, bound up between the past and the present, between the love that bound them together then, and the love that bound them now, the music and Bucky’s voice creating their own dimension where time didn’t matter. Steve felt young and hopeful, the way he shouldn’t have any right to after what he’d witnessed in his life. 

Steve crushed his lips to Bucky’s, and Bucky kissed him back deeply, his tongue darting out to swipe across Steve’s bottom lip in a way that was not at all appropriate for a room full of onlookers. 

But Steve didn’t care, and just as he was crushing his body to Bucky’s, Bucky tugged free of his hold. 

Steve frowned. “Buck?” He began, but stopped short when Bucky slid down gracefully onto one knee. 

Steve’s brain short circuited. 

“I love you,” Bucky said simply, his voice ringing clear and confident over the familiar ballad of music, “And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be tied to you in..in every way possible.” 

Steve’s mouth fell open. “Bucky,” He breathed, tears slipping free. His mind was racing, putting the pieces together before he could really register what was happening. Bucky held a tiny velvet ring box in his large hand. “I--”

“Will you, Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky inhaled a shaky breath, and then gave Steve his most dazzling smile, the one that lit up his whole face and knocked Steve breathless. He gazed up at his Omega through his thick eyelashes. “Marry me?” 

The entire room seemed to hold its breath, even the musicians stopped playing, leaning in with curious faces to hear Steve’s reply. You could have heard a pin drop, a spec of rainwater hitting the roof outside. 

“I,” Steve swallowed, his heart bursting with joy. This image, Bucky on one knee, holding out a small ring box, a shimmering golden band placed elegantly within it, a hopeful look on his handsome face...it was a scene Steve had dreamed about in the 40s, one he never thought he could have. 

Omegas and Alphas could be together if they were both men, sure, because biology deemed it so, but marriage was different. Marriage was...for a man and a woman.

But not anymore. 

He could have this. They could have this. 

“Yes!” Steve cried, and before he could say anything further, Bucky was pushing the ring onto his left finger and scooping Steve’s giant body up into a hug as if he weighed nothing, swinging him around.

The room burst out in a flurry of cheers and whoops and applause, and some kind of liquid sprayed down--champagne, Steve though--but he didn’t care. Bucky’s lips were on his, and Bucky’s mark was on his neck, and Bucky’s ring was on his finger. 

_ They were one.  _

“You want to marry me,” Steve laughed gleefully as Bucky set him down. “We’re going to get married?”

“Damn right we are,” Bucky grabbed Steve’s face in both hands and touched their foreheads together. Steve saw that Bucky’s eyes were shining with his own tears. “And we can have the wedding we always wanted, with daisies at sunset, somewhere overlooking the water…”

“And we can have a real honeymoon, anywhere in the world,” Steve laughed, exhilarated. None of the things that prohibited them then applied now. The world was theirs, they could go anywhere, be anything. 

“I love you,” Bucky said fiercely, like a soldier taking a vow to devote his life to a just cause. “I  _ love  _ you, Steve.” 

“I love you,” Steve replied, his voice breaking a little. It had been a while since he’d cried happy tears, but it felt good. Rejuvenating. “I love you, James Barnes. Always have, always will.” 

“Okay! That is what I’m talking about! Murder Man  _ does  _ have a heart!” Tony cheered, as more modern techno music took over the classical that had been playing earlier. “JARVIS--we’re going to need more champagne!” 

Later, much later, Steve would hold Bucky’s aging hands in his, and twirl a piece of Bucky’s greying hair between his fingers. He would press their lips together and know that his heart was safe. He would forget some things, that all aging minds do, the glasses of champagne toasted to them on their wedding night, the exact words whispered in the early mornings between sips of coffee...but he would never forget their adventures, their heartbreaks. Steve would always carry with him the trials and triumphs of their love, and never, not even for a moment, would he take Bucky’s love for granted. 

Each day was a gift , Steve knew. He remembered Bucky’s wavering voice, thick with love and tears, on their wedding day, standing before their closest friends, a row of chairs left empty for Peggy and the other Howlies that surely would have cheered obnoxiously as Bucky kissed him. Bucky’s eyes had been red-rimmed and gleeful. 

_ Each sunrise and sunset with you will be a gift in itself.  _

It was true, Steve thought, watching the sun begin to wake up the New York skyline, on a lazy morning years after they had said those vows.  _ A gift.  _

“Stevie?” Bucky’s voice called out around an exaggerated yawn. “Come back in here, s’freezing out on the balcony. And--it’s Sunday, remember? Pancakes are ready.” 

“Coming,” Steve murmured, and turned away from the rising sun. The sky was orange and pink, and the air felt warm and full of possibility. 

Now they went on dates, and had pancakes on Sunday, and they geared up when the world needed them--albeit slower than they used to. They fought the battles they needed to fight, side by side, and then they came home, and they just  _ were.  _

Together. 

*THE END*

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! Please feel free to leave kudos/comments if you'd like to see more!! They make me SO HAPPY!!!!!!!!!


End file.
